Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon
by Kat A. Klysmic
Summary: After Dagur sacrificed himself to save Hiccup and the Riders from Viggo's trap, he washed up on the shore of a strange island. He became fast friends with Merida, Princess of Dunbroch, and lived peacefully in Scotland for three years before Viggo's appearance with a hoard of dragons at his beck and call turned it all upside down. Merricup, Heatstrid, Dagur x Young Macintosh
1. The Princess and the Berserker

**AN:** In honor of the new season of 'Race to the Edge' airing here in a couple of days, I've decided to go ahead and start posting this fic I've been working on! I've got about four and a half months worth of weekly updates already lined up, so look forward to it! ;D

 **Important Story Info, Please Read:** The time-line I've decided on for this fic is that the events of Brave and How to Train Your Dragon 2 both took place at approximately the same time, with the RTTE episode "Family on the Edge" (s3ep11) occurring a year before story opens two years after Brave/HTTYD2, making it three since Dagur disappeared. Another brief note, I'm pretty sure Castle Dunbroch is _technically_ on a lake, but for the sake of this story I decided to place it on an inlet instead.  
Also, a warning in advance, it's going to be quite awhile before Merida and Hiccup actually meet, lol. I promise we'll get there eventually though!

I'm marking this story as mature, btw! There won't be much in the way of cursing and explicit situations (thus far in my writing anyways lol), but there is some fairy brutal violence later on.

Make sure to check out my side tumblr (jolieburnsinfandomhell) for news, updates, sneak peeks, and fanart!

Hope you enjoy, and please remember to leave a review! Can't write without them!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter One: The Princess and the Berserker

"Princess?"

Merida hummed absently to herself as she shoveled out Angus' stall, old hay and horse droppings flying over her shoulder with each pass of her pitchfork. The horse in question munched contentedly on the oats she had fetched for him after a particularly long and arduous ride that morning.

"Pardon me, Princess?" Maudie repeated as she poked her head over the top of the stall door, keeping a wary eye on the sometimes temperamental stallion as she did.

Her back to the head woman, Merida grimaced, dreading whatever task she was about to assign her on behalf of the queen.

"Aye, Maudie, what is it?" Merida asked as she continued shoveling, forcing the older woman to side-step quickly before an errant clod of dung could catch her in the face.

"It's your brothers, M'lady, the Queen is asking after them. Have you seen the princes about?"

Merida finished her shoveling and looked around at Maudie as she set aside her pitchfork and dusted her hands off on her wool skirt. "Haven't seen them since this morning," she admitted, and winced internally at the way the other woman's face fell. A pang of sympathy for Maudie's plight struck a chord with the young woman in spite of her better judgment.

The boys took particular delight in tormenting Maudie, the one woman in their life that was completely incapable of calling them to order. Elinor really was the only one who could manage it consistently in any case. Even Merida had to resort to bribery more often than not, and sometimes even _that_ didn't work.

The princess sighed expressively before reluctantly adding, "But I'll have a look 'round for them, shall I? I'll send them on to the Queen when I find them. You head back to the kitchen, Maudie."

The look of utter relief on the head woman's face was almost painful to behold. "Bless you, Princess," she said with a grateful, almost tearful, smile before hurrying away.

Merida shared an exasperated look with Angus at the way the older woman rushed off before the redhead could change her mind.

So much for her free day.

The princess gave her horse a fond slap on the withers and ducked out of his stall to make her way across the courtyard to the narrow set of stairs that led up to the castle wall. If they were anywhere outside, she'd be able to spot them from somewhere along the battlements, surely.

As she'd predicted, it didn't take her long to catch a glimpse of three familiar heads of curly red hair sprinting down the path from the back gate that lead down to the docks.

"Och, what are you up to now, you wee devils?" she muttered to herself and skipped hurriedly down the nearest set of stairs to chase after them.

She lost sight of them as soon as she reached the path, which curved erratically down the steep slope of the hill and cut through a patch of forest. Merida cursed silently and hoped that they had actually stuck to the path lest she be forced to search among the trees and bramble for her errant siblings. Ooh they'd get such a hiding if she had to waste her afternoon chasing about after them…

Luckily for the triplets, the docks were indeed their destination, so no wild goose chase through the forest was required of their elder sister that particular sunny spring afternoon.

"And what are you lot up to now?" she asked them, only a little out of breath from her run as she finally caught up to her brothers.

All three little boys had clambered up a stack of crates, and stood watching a ship pull into dock. Men ran back and forth across its decks, furling sails and throwing down ropes to tether it in place so they could offload the day's catch.

"A fishing boat?" she mused aloud and folded her arms across her chest, deciding to humor her brothers for the moment before dragging them off to their mother.

Hubert spared her a look, grinning as he bounced on the balls of his feet and pointed expressively up to the deck of the ship.

It had been two years since the fiasco with Mor'du, and still the boys had yet to utter a word to anyone. Elinor fretted a little more with every month that passed without her sons speaking, but Fergus continually reassured her that they'd open up when they were good and ready. Merida herself was of the opinion that they _already_ spoke plenty, but only to one another when they were certain they were alone. She would swear up and down that she heard them whispering amongst themselves sometimes, only to find them completely silent when she entered the room. She'd yet to out them to her mother, though, deciding that her father had the right of it. They would speak when they were ready.

Knowing their luck, the real trick would be to get them to _stop_ once they'd finally begun.

Merida lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun as she turned her attention to the deck proper. A few men had dragged a gangplank up to the ship and dropped it into place, allowing several people to disembark while others wrestled with barrels or nets, readying them from offloading. All three boys perked up when one man in particular stepped off the boat and onto the dock.

A shock of recognition immediately shot through the princess, prompting her to grin and call, "Dagur!"

The man in question looked around in surprise, his heavily scarred face lighting up with a broad grin when he spotted the three little princes heading for him at a dead sprint while their sister approached at a more sedate pace.

Harris, Hubert, and Hamish threw themselves bodily at the man, forcing him to drop the satchel he'd slung over his shoulder before the boys did so for him.

"All Father have mercy!" Dagur cried as Hamish locked onto one of his legs and his brothers claimed an arm each, clinging tightly as the man flailed, feigning distress. "Princess, for Thor's sake, get help, the terrible terrors are swarming!"

Merida laughed, doubling over in her mirth as Dagur dropped over backwards onto the dock and the boys swarmed over his prone form. He tried to fend them off half-heartedly, mock horror quickly turning into laughter as the boys 'bit' at him with their fingers.

"Terrible terrors, huh?" Merida repeated as she fought to catch her breath and wiped away a few stray tears of amusement. "Those are the wee ones that spit fire and lick their eyeballs, are they?" she asked rhetorically as she grinned down at the pile of bodies at her feet. "Not far off, I must admit."

The triplets all pulled faces at her, but she only laughed. While they were distracted, though, Dagur took advantage and surged to his feet, seeming unhindered by the fact that all three boys still clung bodily to him.

"You remembered!" the viking said brightly and flashed the princess one of his wide, manic grins that had earned him the title 'Dagur the Mad' among the clans. Like many others, the way he smiled had once made Merida nervous, but these days she barely noticed.

Merida snorted lightly and grabbed up the man's bag for him, then started walking down the dock, Dagur in tow with his princely burden.

"As if I could forget! When you're not around to tell your wild tales, the boys make _me_ tell them over and over and _over_ again," she admitted with a laugh. "Apparently I'm just not as good, though," she added, and the boys nodded sagely when Dagur looked down at them.

"You probably don't do the voices right," Dagur pointed out with a laugh, then reached over and traded Harris in return for his bag.

"Och, my greatest failing," Merida said with a put upon sigh as she adjusted her grip on her little brother, who squirmed in her arms. "Oh come off it, Hamish, let the poor man walk, will you?" she chided the prince who was still latched onto Dagur's leg.

The Viking glanced down and paused in the middle of the path and gave his leg an experimental shake "Forgot he was there," he said, and Merida wasn't entirely sure he was joking. Things were often that way with Dagur, though.

If someone had told her before she'd met Dagur that a viking of all people would one day be her best friend, Merida would have called them a scabby liar to their face. Add the fact that her father, the Bear King Fergus of Dunbroch, _liked_ him and she'd have laughed herself sick.

Three springs previous, though, the path to that fate had been laid out before them all when Maudie had found Dagur washed up on the beach below the castle while out on one of her early morning walks. Startled and thinking she had stumbled upon a corpse, the poor woman had fled back to the castle and returned with a few guards, intent on giving the body a proper burial.

The moment the men had laid hands on what they thought was a corpse, though, the viking had lashed out, confused and disoriented before fainting once more. It was so sudden that Maudie herself had sunk into a dead faint, leaving the guards to haul both Dagur _and_ the head woman back up to the castle.

Merida, curious creature that she was, had quite firmly inserted herself into the scene by deciding she would assist the castle healer nurse the stranger back to health. Elinor, her daughter knew, had vehemently wanted to object to the princess' new project, but had finally decided to refrain. She had been trying for months to get the girl to study basic medicine with the healer (it was a princess' duty to have a working knowledge of _all_ things going on in the castle, after all, even if she wasn't expected to put that information to use), so she decided it was better late than never.

Nursing Dagur had certainly been an educational experience for the princess. He was half dead when he arrived, and not even the healer had been sure he'd last more than a day or two. Broken ribs, severe dehydration, back flayed to ribbons, and a litany of other wounds far too long for comfort were all stacked against Dagur from the beginning.

Somehow, though, he'd pulled through. The viking had been delirious for days, muttering to himself about vikings and hunters, blood and dragons...but he had gradually come round to lucidity, and Merida had been there to gradually coax his story from him.

He was a viking as it turned out, though by that point Merida hadn't been terribly surprised. Her naturally curious disposition had made this a mere point of interest, rather than the basis of enmity. After all, their coast hadn't been plagued by his kind since she was a child. Still, she'd known her duty as princess of Dunbroch, and had been her very cleverest as she tried to hint that he might be part of some larger war party come to invade their kingdom.

Despite all her coaxing, though, Dagur seemed to have never even heard of her country, let alone been part of a tribe inclined to raiding their coastal villages. When she had shown him a map, he could not even find his home on it, implying that he was from very far away indeed.

Though Merida had maintained a healthy skepticism and wariness towards Dagur, the man had come to trust her long before he was taken off of bed rest and out from under her care. He was a strange man, and most certainly mad, but there was a kindness beneath his twitchy exterior that soon won the princess over. There was a sadness too, and a sort of worldly wisdom that implied a depth of experience that surpassed Merida's own, despite their only being a few years apart in age.

The depths of his madness soon became apparent as he spun her fantastic tales of a life spent sailing an archipelago so far to the north that it appeared on none of her father's maps. He told stories of vikings besieged by dragons for generations, of vikings that hunted dragons for profit, and best of all, stories of vikings who tamed dragons and rode them through the skies as she rode Angus through the glens of her homeland.

Merida knew they were just the ravings of a madman, but she was fascinated, particularly by Dagur's story of his rival turned brother, Hiccup Haddock the third, son of a chief, and known as the Dragon Master amongst foreign tribes. The princess wasn't sure she would ever fully grasp Dagur's peculiar relationship with the Hiccup character from his stories, though.

Their tribes had been allies once, but they had become enemies over time. Dagur was strangely upfront about this fact, often laughing at himself as he relayed old stories of the many ways he had tried to kill the heir to the Hooligan tribe. Hiccup had defeated him time and time again, and though she could sometimes sense his frustration in these stories, any enmity on Dagur's part appeared to have mostly transitioned into admiration over the years that had supposedly passed.

They seemed to have reconciled before Dagur had arrived in Scotland, though, with Hiccup supposedly teaching him the ways of a dragon rider. This was a story the ship-wrecked viking told only once, though it was certainly one of his grandest. For the sake of saving his sister from a trap that Hiccup could not see despite his warnings, Dagur had flown in head first and saved his one time enemies from the machinations of an evil dragon hunter. Though he had succeeded in destroying half of the hunter's fleet, he and his dragon had inevitably been captured and caged on the hunter's flagship.

What had happened after that, Dagur refused to say.

In the end, though, Merida supposed it didn't matter. She didn't know what had happened in Dagur's past to make him fabricate such wild tales, but it must have been something terrible for his brain to backtrack out of reality so hard that it wound up in dragon territory.

Eventually, Dagur's identity as a viking had come out to her father, and set the castle in a frenzy. Only Merida's intercession on his part saved Dagur from a hanging. The fact that he was clearly mad and utterly alone in the world went a long way to convincing Fergus, but it was the man's skill with a sword that sealed his welcome in their kingdom.

Merida had seen a great many skilled swordsmen, her father among them, but Dagur fought with a ferocity and skill that few in her father's court could match. So, in exchange for his freedom, the viking agreed to train her father's swordsmen, which he continued to do to this day. For the last two years, though, Dagur had taken to traveling between the four clans, training the chiefs' men, and taking on odd jobs in exchange for gold.

One of his favorite jobs was working as a shiphand, which didn't surprise her or anyone else that knew him. The man had been raised on the sea, and he was just as sought after by ships captains these days as he was by aspiring swordsmen. The princess wasn't sure just what he was saving all that gold he earned for, or where he was hiding it, but she figured it must be for something important. He wasn't the sort to put much stock in luxuries, after all.

"So, where are we going?" Dagur asked as he ducked down and pulled Hamish from his leg and put him up on his shoulder instead, where the little prince rode proudly. Hubert soon joined him on the opposite side, leaving Harris to clamber up onto Merida's shoulders despite her loud protests.

Once her little brother was settled, and no longer in yanking her hair out by the root, Merida replied, "Why, got someone better to spend your time with than royalty?"

The viking barked out a laugh. "Maybe. What's it to you, Princess?"

"Och, well, I _was_ going to invite you up to the castle for dinner, but if you're gonna be like that..." Merida drawled with an expressive roll of her eyes as they strolled up the path to the castle. The boys squirmed in excitement at the prospect of dinner with Dagur, and Harris tugged at his sister's curls as though to warn her not to ruin their evening for them.

"Hey, no need to be hasty now!" the man replied hurriedly. "I was only joking! You know I'm never too busy for a free meal," he said and grinned. His expression turned canny then, and he asked, "Sure your mother will be alright with it? You're not doing this just to get under her hide, are you?"

Merida threw her head back and laughed, nearly dislodging her brother. "No, I promise I'm not just inviting you to annoy my mum," the princess reassured the man. "She'd not dare turn you away anyways, not after getting an official invitation from yours truly," she continued, then smiled mischievously and added, "It would be terribly rude, you know."

Dagur just shook his head in response, clearly amused. After a moment, he asked, "Well, what story should I tell after dinner then?"

It had become a tradition of sorts when the man came to visit, that once dinner had been eaten, but before the princes were sent off to their beds, Dagur would tell one of his many stories. Elinor had long been skeptical of Dagur and his rough ways, and especially of any influence he might have over her daughter, but even she was enchanted by his tales of the far north, fantastical though they might be.

Merida looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Tell the one where you and Hiccup were trapped on the island together, and you had to work together to make an antidote for Toothless."

"Sound okay to you boys?" Dagur asked, smiling around at the princes, who all nodded enthusiastically. "A fine choice, Princess," he told her brightly.

"It's one of my favorites," she admitted. "I like the stories where you work together with the riders best," the princess said, then added, "I wish you had more like that," in a subtle attempt to egg him into making up a new story. They had heard all of them many times over by now, but the viking staunchly refused to make up anything new, insisting that all his tales were true until he either lost his temper or shut down entirely. It was a subject she had long since learned not to broach directly. The last time she had, the man had disappeared and not returned to Dunbroch for three whole months.

An inexpressible sadness stole across Dagur's face and darkened his eyes as he quietly replied, "Yeah, me too."

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 **AN:** Well there we are, first chapter! Please make sure to leave a review if you enjoyed, they really do help me keep writing! As a special surprise, I've decided to post the next chapter at the same time as this first one, since they were both a little on the short side. Enjoy! ;D


	2. In Want of a Wife

**AN:** Welcome to chapter two! Make sure you read the notes at the beginning of chapter one! Also, remember to leave a comment if you enjoy this chapter, they really do help me keep writing!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Two: In want of a wife

It was quiet on Berk. Eerily so, if you weren't accustomed to the curious sort of silence that deep, heavy snowfall brought with it.

It was a rare day when the winds from the sea had died off almost completely, leaving fat snowflakes to fall thick and heavy across the island, blanketing it in a sheet of white that softened the hard edges of steepled roofs and obscured the well worn paths that wound through the village. It was late, and the quiet pressed in on Hiccup's ears, making the man feel as though someone had stuffed them full of wool, leaving him deaf to everything but the sound of his own heartbeat and steady breathing. Beside him, Toothless ambled easily along as they made their way from the great hall back towards their house. Even the normally frisky Night Fury seemed reluctant to mar the rare perfection of the snow that surrounded them.

The rest of the village had been in bed for hours, leaving chief and dragon alone on their evening ramble.

Hiccup paused at a curve in the path that ran along one of the village's many cliffs and made a mental note that they should really invest in some guard rails to prevent a sturdy gust of wind sending someone straight over the edge.

One more thing for the ol' to-do list.

For the time being, though, Hiccup took advantage of the quiet moment to look out across the village. Berk had grown so much in the last two years, easily doubling their population since the decisive end of their battle with Drago. Many of the newcomers were deserters from the scattered remains of the madman's army, others were from neighboring tribes that had heard of the new, safer way of life afforded to those who lived on Berk under the guiding hand of the Chief of the Hooligan tribe; the one called Dragon Master.

Land once used for farming and animal husbandry had been relegated to new housing for those eager to swear allegiance to the tribe, leading Hiccup to outsource those very necessary facets of life to nearby islands they found suitable for such things.

Things were going smoothly, all things considered. It was never easy blending peoples from so many disparate groups, and Hiccup had been forced to settle more than one dispute among families, but things had yet to devolve into a civil war, so the young chief was more than ready to chalk that up for a win.

"Hiccup?"

The rider turned and smiled when he saw his mother approaching, her long, dark hair and lashes dusted with a coating of snow.

"Hey, mom," he replied quietly. "Anything the matter?" Hiccup asked a moment later out of reflex honed by his last two years as chief. It seemed as though something were _constantly_ the matter, even if it was only little things. No wonder his father had always been so short with him growing up. He'd constantly been getting into trouble, adding more problems onto an already heaping plate…

"No, nothing's the matter, dear one," Valka reassured him with a chuckle, her green eyes bright as she smiled up at him. The quirk of her thin lips told her son that she knew precisely how he was feeling. "I just came to make sure that you and Toothless weren't going to be spending another night sleeping in the great hall."

"Nah, not tonight," Hiccup replied with a chuckle as his hands went to his lower back. "Not until we get some more comfortable benches, anyways."

Beside him, Toothless huffed and shook himself free of the snow that was rapidly piling up on his dark hide. Clearly uninterested in sitting around in the snow all night, the Night Fury started back up the path towards home with barely a backwards glance at the pair of humans.

"Looks as though we're to be left behind if we don't hurry along," Valka mused with a smile as they started after the dragon.

"Probably for the best," Hiccup replied as he fought a yawn, then offered his mother his arm so they could steady one another against the treacherous footing hidden by the deceptive blanket of pristine snow.

They walked in quiet for a minute before Valka broke the silence, much to her son's relief. He felt as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet if he didn't distract himself somehow.

"So, what kept you late?"

"I was reviewing Fishlegs' reports on the new recruits," Hiccup replied. He often left Fishlegs' reports for the end of his work day. Not only did his friend have clear, easy to read handwriting, but his news always peaked Hiccup's interest, not an easy thing to do at the tail end of a busy day of being chief.

Valka smiled. "Oh? Anyone promising?"

Hiccup chuckled and said, "You know Fishlegs, _every_ recruit is promising to him."

His mother could only agree with that statement, but she did add, "To be fair, he's generally right. The lad has a gift for teaching others. You chose well, putting him in charge of the academy."

"I did, didn't I?" Hiccup replied, well pleased with how that decision had worked out. It hadn't precisely been a popular choice at first, even with Fishlegs himself. The man had insisted that Heather or Astrid would be a better pick, but with Astrid acting as Hiccup's own second in command, she had little time to also be running the school. Besides, even had she been free to do so, he still would have picked the Gronkle rider.

Astrid and Heather were two of the island's best riders, but it was Fishlegs who had intimate knowledge of almost every dragon they had ever come in contact with. It was Fishlegs who had an almost inexhaustible supply of patience that was so crucial when dealing with those just beginning to learn, particularly the young.

Eventually, Fishlegs had accepted, though only on the condition that Heather be his assistant. The woman had happily agreed, even though it did curtail her wandering ways at times. Still, she took over the advanced flying and combat classes while Fishlegs focused on administration and instilling the all too vital basics in the new recruits. Together, the pair were providing Berk with a new generation of highly trained riders to protect all humans _and_ dragons that lived within their territory.

"You've done a wonderful job, Hiccup," Valka said before continuing in a quiet tone that was almost buried by the quiet snowfall, "Your father would be so proud."

Hiccup's heart tightened painfully at the words, but he managed a weak smile for his mother, who looked to be feeling much the same. After a moment, she took a breath to collect herself and said, "Still, with all this working, I hope you're not letting other things pass you by."

"What?" Hiccup asked, brow furrowed in confusion at this sudden shift in the conversation, unable to follow her train of thought.

Valka gave her son a canny look. "I'm talking about your _personal_ life, Hiccup," she said with a rueful smile. "Being chief is an important job, but you don't have to do it alone..."

"But I haven't been," the chief said, blinking down at his mother. "You've been a huge help, and of course I couldn't do it without Astrid and the others-"

Valka rolled her eyes expressively and said, "Hiccup, dear, I'm talking about a _wife_."

"O-oh!" the man stuttered, flushing crimson as his mother's meaning finally sank in. "I, uh...I haven't really given it a lot of thought, I guess. I've been so busy that, er-" he grimaced as he struggled to find the words, feeling like an awkward teen all over again. "Oh I don't know," he huffed, exasperated.

His mother chuckled at her son's flustered ramblings. He really was such a sweet man; so unassuming and kind. He'd make some lucky woman a wonderful husband some day, she just knew it.

If only she could get him to actually pull his head out of his work long enough to give the idea some thought.

"Having a wife with a good head on her shoulders is important for a chief, you know," Valka said as they walked and her son fell into awkward silence at her side. "Not that I'm one to speak authoritatively on the subject..." she added with a sigh of regret, green eyes dark as she turned them skyward, no doubt thinking of all the years she had lost with her husband and son.

"Mom," Hiccup said, frowning as he placed his hand reassuringly over hers. Before he could say more, though, she pressed on.

"Traditionally, a chief's wife does more than just take care of the home and give him heirs," the woman said firmly. She needn't have bothered, though. Hiccup didn't think _any_ Berkian woman thought of herself as someone who existed only to bear their husband's children. Berk tended to produce a very independent breed of woman.

The very thought brought a smile of amusement to his face.

"She has to be the type of woman who will act as mediator between her husband and their people. She has to have a good head on her shoulders, and a kind heart to temper the hard decisions her husband will inevitably have to make."

"Helps if she's good with an axe too," Hiccup added in an attempt to lighten the mood. His mother shot him a look and he chuckled.

"This is important, Hiccup," she chided him.

"I know," he admitted with a sigh, serious once more. He wasn't _totally_ blind after all. Hiccup had noticed the way certain families were starting to push their daughters forward in hopes of marrying them into power. He'd heard the hints and seen the winks from the other men, caught some nudges from a few particularly forward mothers…

"What about Astrid?" Valka asked, watching him with thoughtful eyes. "She's a bright young woman. Brave, strong...and I know you're fond of her."

Hiccup gave a start at the suggestion, eyes going wide as he met his mother's gaze.

"Plus she's already your second in command, and well liked by many on the island."

"Mom," he said, holding up a hand to stop her before she could go further. The woman blinked up at him, surprised by his reaction. Embarrassed she had expected, amused she had not.

Hiccup just gave her a rueful sort of smile before explaining, "It's true, I _am_ fond of Astrid. I can confidently say she's my best friend, and one of the people I trust most in all the world." He sighed a little then and continued, "And I won't say that I never liked her that way. She was everything I ever wanted when we were kids..."

Valka cocked her head to one side as she watched her son speak, but said nothing in turn for fear of interrupting his train of thought

"I don't know, maybe it was my fault," he said. "It feels like things just kept coming up. First it was Dagur and the Outkasts, then it was the dragon hunters, and Drago after _that._ " Hiccup ran a hand absently through his dark, snow wet hair and muttered, "I guess I just kept thinking there'd be time for romance later. Then, one day, I looked around and realized we'd missed each other somewhere over the years. We were still best friends, but now she was looking at Heather the way she used to look at me..."

"Heather?" Valka asked, taken aback.

Her son threw his head back and laughed then, and it was a moment before he could continue. "You hadn't noticed? Really? Well, I guess they'll be glad they've been fooling _someone_ with all their sneaking around," he mused.

His mother decided to let the comment pass, and said , "Oh Hiccup, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he reassured her quickly. "I'm happy for them. I promise I'm not pining after her," he added with a wry smile.

The home they now shared, the home he'd once shared with his father, loomed before them then, and they climbed the stairs together before pausing at the door.

"You go ahead," Hiccup told his mother. "I'll be in in a minute."

Valka watched her son for a moment, expression unreadable before nodding. "Don't stay out here too long. Chiefs aren't supposed to get colds you know."

The pair shared a smile, and then Valka disappeared inside, leaving her son to lose himself in thought as he stared out across the pale, moonlit landscape spread out before him.

Hiccup sighed tiredly, his breath a heavy cloud that gradually faded in the still night air. Maybe his mother was right, maybe he _did_ need to be more open to the idea of having a wife. He flushed again at the thought, but forced himself to think on it for a time, rather than pushing it off to one side like he normally would.

It would be nice, he thought, to have someone to come home to at night. Someone who would share the emotional burden of having to care for so many people. He loved his mother very much, and she did everything in her power to help him, but, he realized, it just wasn't the same.

Hiccup was blessed to be surrounded by friends and family that cared deeply for him, and would do anything for him. It felt almost ungrateful to wish for something more until he considered that everyone else around him was looking for something more than friendship as well. Astrid had Heather, and Fishlegs was courting a baker's daughter, last he had heard. She was a sweet girl who looked at Fishlegs like he hung the moon. One never knew what Ruff and Tuff were up to, but Ruff had led a string of men on a merry chase over the years, and didn't seem inclined to settle down quite yet. Even Snotlout had taken up with a shockingly bossy girl who kept him running. Contrary to what all his friends had expected, though, the man appeared to love it, practically worshiping the ground the girl walked on.

It was strange to think that, even as chief, Hiccup was being left behind by his friends for that next phase in their lives. What kind of woman would he even want, ideally?

Still lost in thought, Hiccup turned and entered the house, then made his way quietly up to bed. The fire in the pit at the center of the common room had burned low, leaving only embers, and he left it that way before climbing up the stairs to where Toothless already lay, curled up on his stone perch.

The dragon lifted his head and crooned question to Hiccup, who smiled in the dark and said, "It's alright, bud, go back to sleep. It's just me."

Toothless let out a low chuff, as though to say 'obviously', then lowered his head once more and drifted back off to sleep while Hiccup stripped out of his leather armor and climbed into bed. As he tried to get comfortable, the chief let his mind turn over ideas for this as yet hypothetical wife.

She'd have to be smart, of course, with a taste for adventure and a stomach for flying. A kind heart was top priority as well, as was loyalty and bravery…

So he wanted someone that was smart, kind, brave, and loyal...oh, and strong. You'd have to be to make it on Berk, obviously.

Hiccup grimaced and rolled over, dragging the blankets a little higher as he wondered if he weren't setting himself up for disappointment. It was a lot to ask for all in one package, he knew. He'd found it all in one place with Astrid, but he'd lost his chance there. What were the odds he'd find another such woman who wasn't already claimed by some man (or woman) brighter than himself?

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading, and make sure to drop a review if you enjoyed! Chapter three will be up in a week! Don't forget to follow my side tumblr (jolieburnsinfandomhell) for news, updates, sneak peeks, and fanart!


	3. The Villain in your Narrative

**AN:** Back to Merida and Dagur! It's going to be several chapters before we get back to Hiccup, so kiss him goodbye for awhile XD He's got some chiefly duties to take care of while Merida and Dagur shoulder the burden of establishing this fic's plot, heh.

Make sure to drop a review if you enjoy! They go a long ways towards helping me write!

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Three: The Villain in your Narrative 

"You boys have gotten rusty while I was gone!" Dagur jeered as he swung the blade of his sword up to meet his opponent's overhead strike. The blow was hard enough that the other man flinched, hands stung by the sharp vibration of steel that echoed into his very bones, allowing the viking an opening to land a solid shoulder check in the center of his chest.

The guard landed on his rear in the dirt of the training yard, and went very still as Dagur leveled the tip of his sword at his throat, one of his too-wide smiles plastered across his scarred features. The guard swallowed anxiously as his gaze darted between the blade and the other man's face.

"Well come on, then, don't lay around in the dirt like a pig," Dagur chided him as he deftly sheathed his sword, then hauled the man back up to his feet and shoved him off the training grounds towards his fellows.

Merida watched her friend from where she sat on the stairs that lead up to the battlements and grinned. Dagur had only been back two days and he was already running her father's guards ragged with his training regime at Fergus' personal request. In the king's opinion, his men were going soft in these times of peace, and that was something he simply couldn't allow. After all, he trusted his allies among the clans, but that didn't mean there wasn't the possibility of threats from abroad.

"Grab a partner and line up here across the courtyard," Dagur bellowed, voice carrying impressively over the noise made by the men crowded nearby. "We're going to run drills until the lot of you learn how to do a proper overhand swing, got it?"

There was a general, reluctant sort of 'aye, sir' from the gathered masses that made Merida giggle. She glanced skyward and noted that if she didn't get back to helping her mother reorganize the records room soon, the Queen would likely come looking for her personally.

The princess sighed and pushed herself to her feet before starting off across the courtyard. She raised a hand in farewell to Dagur as she did, and he flashed her a brief smile before going back to shouting at the castle guards.

Before she even made it halfway, though, loud trumpets announcing the arrival of unknown visitors sounded loud in her ears, bringing her, and everyone else in the courtyard, up short. Her curious nature got the better of her, and the princess turned to race back up the stairs to the battlements.

She didn't notice until she came to a stop at a parapet overlooking the courtyard that opened out from the castle's main gate, but Dagur was hot on her heels. Below them, a band of some twenty lightly armed men stood at attention behind another man that appeared to be their leader. They carried no banner, and neither could make out just what it was the leader of this strange band was saying to the captain of the guard.

"Come on, I want a closer look!" Merida hissed to Dagur, and lead the way down one of the narrow side stairs tucked into the wall that let them out just inside the main door. He followed close behind, and peered out over the top of her wild curls when she poked her head around the doorframe to get a better look.

There was nothing particularly impressive about the man speaking to the Captain of the guard, but whatever he'd said had apparently convinced the other man to go in search of her father. The stranger had short cropped dark hair with a widow's peak, and deep set eyes. He stroked a carefully trimmed goatee absently as he waited. Most interesting to Merida, though, was the scar on the left side of his throat. Three, long gashes, as though he had been clawed by something and managed to live to tell the tale…

"Och, will you look at those scars?" she muttered to Dagur, then snickered and added "Do you reckon he gave them to himself with those spiked shoulder guards of his?"

When no reply was forthcoming, though, she looked around with a frown, only to realize her friend was nowhere to be found.

"Dagur?" she hissed, but quickly stifled herself when she saw the captain returning at a quick pace.

He approached the stranger once more and said "The King will see you in the throne room, but your men are to remain here."

"Not a problem," the stranger replied with an easy smile. Something about it set Merida's teeth on edge, though, and she decided in that moment that she did not like this man in the least. She watched as he sauntered past her hiding spot in the shadows behind the door, more at ease than he had any right to be in her opinion.

Whatever it was he wanted, she hoped her father sent him packing.

* * *

Merida had prepared herself for a lengthy wait, but less than five minutes later, raised voices had the princess jumping to her feet and ducking out of sight just in time to witness her father throwing the smaller man bodily from the throne room by the scruff of his neck.

"If I ever see you here again I'll have you strung up and left for the bears, do you hear me?" Fergus bellowed as he advanced on the stranger, face contorted with fury.

The other man simply picked himself up and dusted himself off as he shot the king a disdainful look and said, "Very well, have it your way, your majesty." His smile was thin and unpleasant as he added, "But please, don't claim I never offered you an olive branch when all is said and done."

"OUT!" the king roared, and the other man turned on heel and strode away, seeming as unruffled now as when he had entered a few minutes before.

Merida ducked out from her hiding place, taken aback by the rare display of genuine anger from her father. She hadn't seen him this upset since he'd thought her mother had been killed by a bear.

"Dad," she said, voice smaller than she would have liked to admit. Fergus turned and looked at her then, and she flinched reflexively.

Her father softened fractionally, then, and said "I'm sorry lass. Do us a favor, go get your mother. We've affairs to discuss," in a grim tone.

For once, Merida didn't argue, but did as she was asked.

Fergus watched her go for a moment, then stepped back into the throne room, and closed the door behind him.

"Enjoy your meeting with Viggo Grimborn?"

The king had his sword out in a flash, but when he leveled it at Dagur, the viking seemed unbothered by the display. He simply stood along one wall, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched the king with calm green eyes.

Fergus eyed the man for a moment, then slowly sheathed his sword and asked, "How did you know his name? Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Dagur repeated and scoffed. "I used to _work_ with him." He could see the king's hand tighten reflexively on the hilt of his sword, then, and quickly raised a hand to calm him, "Relax, I haven't for a long time. We parted on less than pleasant terms." Dagur's chuckle turned into a high giggle at the end at the memory of the last time he had seen Viggo, making him sound more manic than he had for some time. "He's a dragon hunter," the viking said simply.

Fergus' eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he laughed and slapped his knee with one broad, meaty hand. "You almost had me going for a moment there, lad," he said and sighed as he got himself under control, then plopped himself down in the chair at the head of the table. Some servant had been in the middle of preparing it for the royal family's dinner when Fergus had taken control of the room, leaving place settings and plates scattered across its weathered surface.

"I'm not trying to 'get you going', your majesty," Dagur insisted as he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to stand opposite the king. "This is serious. _Deadly_ serious. I know you all think I'm mad, and maybe I am," he said, a pained expression crossing his features as he spoke. "But dammit, I _know_ Viggo. Whatever he came in here asking you for, he _will_ be back, and he _will_ take it."

All mirth was gone from Fergus' face, now, and he pinched the bridge of his broad nose as he thought.

"Look," the king said at last. "I don't know how you knew his name, maybe you overheard it in the courtyard-"

"I know it because I know _him!_ " Dagur objected, but the king silenced him with a gesture.

"We appreciate your skills in training the guards, and I know we all appreciate those tales of yours," Fergus said, words slow and measured, "But that's enough. That bloody fool just came in here and tried to _buy_ my castle out from under me. I've had enough of silly games for the night."

Dagur grit his teeth, and knew there was nothing else he could say to convince the king that he and his people were all in immediate danger. Frustrated and afraid for those he had come to respect and care for, all the man could do was give Fergus a sharp bow before spinning on heel and pushing his way out the door.

His sudden exit brought Merida and Elinor up short in surprise. The princess in particular was taken aback by his unusually pale complexion, and the grim set of his face.

"Dagur?" she called worriedly after him, but he was already out of sight.

* * *

Three days passed, and Merida was becoming increasingly concerned for her friend. When he wasn't bellowing at the men and putting them through a particularly difficult training exercise, he was uncharacteristically quiet. He'd been staying in the barracks with the guards, and the ones she'd managed to get a word with had said he had been downright bleak since Viggo Grimborn had come to the castle. He didn't laugh, he didn't tell stories...he just paced the castle walls in his free time, or spent hours at the top of the highest tower on the lookout for who knew what.

"It's like he expects an army to come marching up the path any moment," Elinor commented when she joined her daughter at the window one afternoon in the library. Reorganizing the tomes was slow going, and was not made any faster by the princess' distraction.

"Do you think he actually does?" she asked her mother, frowning thoughtfully. She was still baffled by the very fact that Viggo had attempted to buy the castle and the lands around it for mere gold. Who had ever heard of such a thing? Any clan would die before giving up their ancestral home.

The queen hummed thoughtfully and replied, "It seems that way. Even if that awful man _does_ return with an army, it'll take more than mere men to drive us out. There must _always_ be a Dunbroch in the castle."

Merida turned and looked at her mother quizzically. "What?"

"Oh, it's just something your father's mother always used to say before she passed," the queen remarked as she turned away from the window and went back to sorting through books. "She always insisted that there must always be a Dunbroch in the castle. As if they'd ever leave."

"Huh," the princess mused, then gave herself a shake and went back to the task at hand.

Later that evening, Merida went in search of her friend. She knew he had been avoiding her, but she was fed up with his new reclusive habits, and it was the work of a few minutes to corner him in one of the smaller side courtyards.

"Have you been eating?" She asked without so much as a hello.

"What?" he asked, wrong-footed by the question.

"Food, you numpty. Have you been eating when you're prowling about the place looking menacing? Or are you just subsisting on the terror you're inflicting on the guards during practice?"

Her words startled a laugh from him, and something in his face softened as he looked at her standing there, hands on hips and a foreboding scowl on her face.

"Yeah," he answered finally. "You know Maudie's fond of me. She stuffs me with buns every chance she gets," Dagur said with one of his cheekier grins, making Merida laugh.

It was true, Maudie really was fond of the viking. It was a fact that never ceased to amuse the princess, and she could only attribute it to the fact that the head woman had been the one that discovered Dagur half dead on the beach all those years ago.

"Beggar," Merida said and smiled, swatting his arm with the back of a hand. They were both quiet for a moment before she finally broke down and asked, "You're worried, aren't you? About Viggo?"

Dagur's expression went dark again, and he nodded, "Yeah."

"Is he...really the one from your stories?" she asked hesitantly. While she had always _wanted_ Dagur's stories to be true, for dragons and the vikings who rode them to be the stuff of reality rather than fairy tail, she'd never truly been able to believe.

"Yes!" the viking said emphatically, hands going to his head, fingers twining through his red hair in frustration. He looked at her, eyes pleading as he asked, "You believe me, don't you, Mer?"

Though she didn't say anything right away, he must have read the hesitation in her eyes as Dagur's expression crumpled, and his shoulders slumped.

"I can't really blame you," he said quietly. "Sometimes _I_ don't even believe me," he added. Dagur's breath caught in his throat as he admitted, "Sometimes I wonder if any of it was even real. Maybe I _am_ mad."

"Oh Dagur," Merida murmured as she placed one of her slight hands on his forearm, unsure of what else to say. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, but before she could say anything else, Dagur continued.

"It can't be fake, though, it just _can't,_ " he insisted, more to himself than to her, though he covered her hand with his own. Dagur looked at her, green eyes huge and said, "If I made it all up, that means my sister, Heather..."

Watching her normally confident friend falling to pieces right in front of her wounded Merida deeply. After three years of never doubting himself in the face of so many naysayers, the appearance of one man who shared a name and face with someone from his stories had apparently shaken him in a way nothing else had.

Coming to a decision, Merida pulled her hand from his and gave the man a good shake. "Stop that right this instant, you hear me?" she said sharply. "Dagur, you believe whatever it is you need to believe. We've none of us the right to question you, so don't you dare let anyone, not even me, make you doubt yourself. The Dagur _I_ know would never give up like this, right?"  
Dagur stared at her for a moment, then slowly broke into a smile. "Right. No, you're right, Princess. Thank you," he said. The viking seemed to give himself a mental shake, and when he looked at her again, his shoulders were straight once more.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Please drop a review if you enjoyed ;W; Updates every Tuesday for as long as I can manage!


	4. Fate's Hand

**AN:** Oh geeze I almost forgot to post this hah 8'D Well I haven't gone to bed for Tuesday night Wednesday morning yet so it counts, right?

Thanks so much to those of you that have left reviews so far! They mean so much to me you have no idea ;w;

Remember to follow me on my tumblr sideblog jolieburnsinfandomhell for updates, previews, and fanart! You can find some art I've already done for this fic both there, and on my DA, Hakari-chan!

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon**  
Chapter Four: Fate's Hand

Early the next morning while Merida ate a quick breakfast, she overheard Maudie clucking to herself under her breath as she rummaged through the larder and asked, "Something the matter, Maudie?"

The head woman jumped a little in her surprise at being addressed before saying, "Oh! Princess, I didn't hear you come in." Merida just quirked her lips in amusement, and the older woman continued, "That brace of pigeons I'd had in here has gone missing. If I can't find them, I've not a clue what you and their majesties will be eating for dinner."

Merida polished off the bun she'd been nibbling on, and suggested, "How about rabbit?"

"That'd be all well and good if we _had_ any rabbit," the woman mused as she exited the larder and stood, hands on hips, looking about the place as though she expected to find what she was looking for tucked among the pots and pans.

"I'll get some. I'm always partial to rabbit," Merida said brightly, eager for the opportunity to get out of the castle for a few hours.

The head woman looked doubtful and said, "I don't know, Princess. Your father seems concerned about that awful Grimborn man who was here the other day...he's posted extra lookouts and everything. I'm not sure it'd be right for you to-"

"You worry too much, Maudie," Merida said with a roll of her eyes. When the woman looked ready to say no, though, the princess added, "If it makes you feel better, I'll take an escort, yeah? Then I'll be safe as a wee bug in a rug."

Maudie hesitated a moment longer, but caved in the face of Merida's eager smile. "Oh alright then. You go see to your mother and whatever tasks she has for you first, though," she said firmly and shook her finger at the princess.

Merida grumbled a little at this injunction, but did as she was bid. Besides, ever since the Mor'Du fiasco two years before, things had been much better between the princess and the queen. They still butted heads on occasion, but Merida had acquiesced to learning everything she needed to from her mother, and Elinor had loosened the reins on her daughter's schedule. It had taken a little time, but they'd gradually settled into a comfortable arrangement that suited the both of them.

Luckily, her mother took pity on her that morning and only kept Merida until lunch, which they shared in the royal chambers. Mother and daughter ate cold sandwiches by the window, chatting idly as the queen dodged Merida's penetrating questions about the interview with Viggo Grimborn that had so upset her father.

Though she gained no further insight in that quarter, Merida was unable to remain put out for long as she ventured outside, bow in hand. The afternoon was bright and clear with a breeze rolling in across the water to stir the princess's long curls as she looked around for her 'guard' of choice.

Spotting him up on the wall pacing again, Merida stooped and picked up a small stone. She threw it with unerring accuracy and caught the viking in the back of the head.

Dagur flinched and looked around, then scowled when he spotted the princess down on the ground, grinning impishly up at him. Before he could tell her off, though, she said "Come on, we're going hunting!"

"Since when?" Dagur asked with a roll of his eyes as he leaned casually against the parapet, clearly not inclined to 'hop-to' just because the princess threw rocks at him.

"Since _now,_ obviously," Merida said with a stomp of a foot for emphasis. "Come on, quit standing about or we'll not have any meat for our supper," she chided. "Maudie's pigeons went missing so it's this or vegetable stew, right?"

Dagur grimaced at the prospect, and finally nodded his agreement. "Alright, fine, you win. I'll meet you outside the gate," he said and waved her off before making his way back to the barracks to fetch his things.

Merida flashed him a triumphant grin, then made her way towards the gate. Along the way though, a peculiar trail of feathers caught her attention, diverting her from her course.

It lead her across the courtyard and into one of the storage rooms where the extra weapons were kept. Merida pushed open the door and caught Hamish, Harris, and Hubert red handed as they pushed one of Maudie's pigeons onto the end of a spear as though to make a macabre marionette.

The triplets froze and stared at her wide-eyed as they waited for their elder sister to make her move. Merida narrowed her eyes, then said, "I won't say anything _this_ time, lads, because I get to go hunting thanks to you-" the boys sagged a little in relief, but straightened up again as she continued sharply, "But no more wasting food like that, do you hear me? Someone didn't kill those animals just so you could play pranks on Maudie with them."

All three boys winced a little, and nodded, seeming contrite.

"Alright, then," the princess said, "Just...whatever you do, make sure they're still fit for eating after, alright?"

The little princes grinned and nodded eagerly, and went back to their work as their sister shook her head and left them to it.

When she got to the gate, Dagur was already there and waiting.

"Thought you might've already left without me," the viking mused as she approached. The bow that rested lightly in his calloused hand was large, easily double the draw weight of the much lighter one she had brought.

"Just what do you think we're out to hunt? Bears?" she asked with an incredulous laugh as she tapped his bow with hers.

"Oh, I'm not hunting at all," he said, tapping her right back before taking a moment to string the beast of a weapon. "I'm just here to kill anything that might try to eat you while you try and find us something to eat in turn," he mused with a lopsided grin.

Merida snorted in amusement, but a quick up and down of her friend revealed that not only was he carrying a large bow, but he had a sword strapped to his belt as well. She experienced a moment's temptation to call him paranoid, but thought better of it. After all, he _had_ been there when Mor'Du had attacked. Dagur had seen the type of things the deceptively placid forests around the castle could hide.

"Oh alright then," she huffed lightly and started walking. "Just try not to scare off the rabbits with all your clanking about, yeah?"

"You won't even know I'm here," Dagur reassured her with a grin.

The pair started off into the forest, bows on their back as they made tracks away from civilization where potential prey would be more plentiful. Hours went by, though, with nary a rabbit in sight, and Merida's patience began to wear thin. She wanted to place the blame on Dagur, but for all his muscular build, the man moved agile as a deer when needed. It never ceased to amaze her.

Then, just as the sun was beginning to set and Merida was ready to call it a day, she heard a telltale rustling from a nearby patch of alders.

The princess immediately ducked behind a nearby tree, then looked around to motion for her friend to do the same. When she spotted him, though, he was already crouched behind a fallen log, bow in hand, just in case there was something bigger than a bunny hiding just out of sight. The viking arched an eyebrow at her when he caught her checking on him, and motioned for her to pay attention to her prey.

Merida resisted the urge to huff at him and turned her gaze back to the alder patch instead. Carefully, she drew an arrow from her quiver and knocked it, though did not draw as she waited for a clear shot. After a moment, a fat, brown rabbit cautiously loped out from its hiding place and sniffed the air experimentally.

Knowing she'd not likely get a cleaner shot, the princess took a breath, then stepped out from her hiding place, lifted her bow, pulled, and released in one fluid movement.

There was a pained squeak as her arrow struck home. The rabbit jumped once, then dropped to the ground, twitching as Merida hurried forward, already slinging her bow across her chest and drawing her belt knife.

"Nice shot," Dagur congratulated her. He never tired of watching his friend shoot, and had always admired her prowess with a bow. "No one back home can shoot like you can, Mer," he added with a smile.

His use of the friendly nickname he'd granted her years ago when she was still nursing him back to health, before he'd realized she was a princess, made Merida smile. He was the only one she let get away with that sort of thing, though they'd both agreed that he should only use it in private. Her mother had overheard him once and given him the sort of lecture that made one feel five years old all over again. Elinor somehow managed to make _anyone_ on the receiving end of her lectures feel knee-high, no matter so much bigger than herself they might be.

Needless to say, Dagur had readily agreed to Merida's suggestion after that.

"What, not even Hiccup the incredible?" she teased lightly as she crouched beside the rabbit. It was still breathing, and she carefully thrust the blade of her dagger between its frail ribs and up into its heart to end its suffering quickly.

Dagur watched her work, a wry smile pulling at his thin lips. "No, not even Hiccup," he replied. "Although," he added, "He did have a shield that folded out into a crossbow that he was pretty handy with."

"He did not!" Merida exclaimed incredulously with a laugh as she withdrew her blade, wiped it clean, and then sheathed it. The princess strung the rabbit up with a bit of cord by its ankles to make it easier to carry, then got to her feet. "Between that and the flaming sword, I'm not sure which is the more ridiculous," she mused.

"It's true!" Dagur said defensively and followed after the woman as she started walking.

The princess laughed again and said, "I don't know, Dagur. I can almost believe in dragons; they're just a different kind of animal after all. I'm just not sure I believe there's actually a boy out there who not only single-handedly tamed 'the offspring of lightning and death itself', but _also_ carries a flaming sword and a shield that magically turns itself into a crossbow." Merida shook her head, smiling to herself at the absurdity of it all, her thick mass of curls bouncing with the motion. "I mean, I'm in no place to lecture people about legends and truth, but-"

She realized then, that Dagur was no longer right behind her and looked back. Frowning, she called, "Dagur?"

The man was standing some ways behind her, looking as though he had frozen mid-stride to stare at something to one side of the small deer path they'd been following.

"Dagur, what is it?" she asked and doubled back to join him. "Is there-" As she reached her friend and turned to see what it was that had caught his gaze, Merida froze too.

Lingering at the far edge of a clearing in the shadow of a massive oak, was a wisp.

"Is that..." the viking began, voice hushed, eyes wide.

"A will-o-wisp!" the princess breathed. As they stood and stared, she could hear it now. That faint, hypnotic whisper that had lured her as a child in search of a lost arrow, and again as an adult desperate for a way to change her fate. What, then, was it trying to lead her towards now?

A thrill of excitement mixed with a dash of terror raced up her spine, and the princess tied her kill off to her belt before saying, "Come on."

Dagur gave a start when Merida suddenly dashed off across the clearing towards the wisp, its blue light illuminating the darkening forest around it.

"Are you insane?" Dagur asked, knowing full well he was the last person with any right to ask that question, but did so anyways. When she didn't stop though, he groaned and hurried after her. "Don't you remember what happened _last time_?" he demanded as he vaulted a fallen tree, and nearly twisted an ankle trying to avoid landing on a wisp that suddenly appeared below him.

Merida shot him a grin as she steadied him. The wisp he'd nearly trampled had vanished, and another (or perhaps the same one) appeared a little ways off. "Yes," the princess said as her friend regained his balance and they both started forward again. "It changed my life."

"Your mom got turned into a bear!" Dagur objected. They were both clambering up a steep rock face now, a wisp urging them on from its peak.

The viking reached the top first, and their guide vanished with a quiet sigh. He reached back to give Merida a hand, which she readily accepted, and easily hauled her up beside him. The princess spotted the next wisp first and pointed to it breathlessly, but Dagur took a moment to take in their surroundings before looking at the little light and the direction it was beckoning them in.

"I think it's leading us towards the inlet," the viking said as they started again, forced to go slower now as the light began to fade in earnest.

Merida looked around them for the first time, finally allowing her gaze to drop from her guide and focus on her surroundings instead. "I think you're right," she agreed. "We're heading back towards home too."

Dagur grunted in agreement, and jumped a little when the last wisp disappeared and was suddenly replaced by a whole trail of them lighting the way forward with their eerie blue glow.

"We must be getting close, come on!" Merida urged, gaining her second wind at the sight.

Dagur looked wary, but picked up his pace to match hers lest he get left behind. It was easier now, thanks to the extra light from the little spirits, but he still held serious reservations about following them in the first place. Sure, things had all worked out for the best last time, but who knew if the strange lights would be so kind again? Maybe it was a trap. Maybe they were-

"Dagur!" Merida yelped as he charged through a patch of alders and nearly stepped right off a cliff. Only her quick grab at the back of his tunic kept him from plummeting two hundred feet into the dark waters below.

"Odin's beard," the viking gasped as he took a sharp step back that carried him right into Merida, sending them to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

The princess fought her way free of him with a string of curses that would have made her mother burst a blood vessel. "Will you watch where you're going, haggis for brains!"

Dagur just lay in the grass for a moment, head still spinning from the near fall. "Sorry," he said and finally pushed himself upright to look at her. Merida was already on her feet, dusting off her skirts.

The princess grimaced and made a little noise of disgust when she realized she'd landed on the rabbit she'd had tied to her belt. The result was a gory streak of blood across her left hip that stretched down to her knee.

"Ugh! Mum'll have _my_ hide for this," she said and shot the rabbit that still hung from her belt an ugly look. It was a little squashed, but still seemed edible otherwise.

Dagur started to laugh when the dying light of day reflecting off of something besides the distant waves caught his attention. He got to his feet, and stared into the setting sun, one hand lifted to shield his narrowed eyes against the light.

Not noticing her friend's distraction, Merida looked about her feet and muttered, "Where'd the wisps go? Did we lose them?" She frowned worriedly at the thought, wondering why they'd abandoned them so easily here at a cliff. Maybe Dagur was right to be worried about their intentions after all...

"I think they've already brought us where we need to go," Dagur said with a frown and pointed out to sea when he had Merida's attention. "See them?" he asked.

Confused, the princess looked to where he pointed. It took a moment, thanks to the light being directly in her eyes, but eventually she was able to make out a massed silhouette that she didn't immediately recognize. "Ships?" she said after a moment, expression quizzical. "Strange looking ones," she added, blinking rapidly against the spots forming in her vision.

"Merida, those are _viking_ ships," Dagur said, voice tight, an expression that was equal measures dread and excitement on his face.

"What?" the princess demanded sharply, startled. "Are you sure?"

Dagur shot her a look so full of skepticism that Merida actually winced. "Oh, no, silly me," the viking drawled. "Of _course_ I can't recognized my own people's ships, I mean, not like I grew up on them or-"

"Alright alright!" the woman exclaimed and threw her hands in the air in surrender. "Shut your gob, I get your point!"

The man harrumphed, but let the subject drop as he turned his attention back to the ships themselves. Though they had been sharply silhouetted a moment before, the boats were beginning to blend with the dark waters of the inlet, making it impossible for him to make out any of the tribal emblems emblazoned across the sails.

Dagur swore quietly to himself and bit down on his lower lip. The Scots had a notoriously bad relationship with the vikings that sailed this far south. He had never come up against any of them, as the alliance Fergus had brokered between the clans had made them too difficult a force to be tempting to raiding parties anymore. Vikings hadn't been seen in force on Scottish shores since before Merida was a child.

So what were they doing here now? Especially with such a small fleet?

The collection of ships no doubt seemed impressive to the princess, but Dagur knew from experience that there was no way such a small force could hope to take on the massed manpower of the allied clans. Were these some new tribe of vikings unfamiliar with the area getting into more than they could handle?

"Dagur, we have to warn my dad," Merida said.

The older man glanced down at her, then nodded his agreement and said "Yeah, come on. If we hurry we'll make it with at least an hour to spare assuming the wind doesn't change in their favor."

Merida nodded, and they started off at a quick pace along the cliff's edge, the lack of foliage there making for faster travel than cutting through the woods.

They were breathless and tired by the time they decided to take a brief rest before cutting away from the water to make it up the steep incline towards the castle. Merida heaved a sigh of relief when she saw its familiar towers soaring above the surrounding tree line.

"What in Thor's name," Dagur muttered to himself as he stared off across the water below them once more. The sun was long gone, but the gibbous moon hanging overhead provided a thin, pale light that reflected off the waves and a mass of...something that was making a bee-line for the shore.

"Can't-can't be the ships, can it?" Merida asked, incredulous as she fought to catch her breath.

"No, wind's all wrong," the viking replied absently, shoulders tense as he stepped up to the cliff and peered down towards the water, the princess joining him a moment after. The mass of shadows moved faster than any ship, and was headed directly towards the face of the rocks.

"Whatever it is, it's gonna crash!" Merida exclaimed, one hand grabbing convulsively at Dagur's arm.

The man didn't respond as the shadows shifted in unison and began to fly up the side of the cliff. Dagur's green eyes went wide when light sparked sharply within the velvet darkness, and the truth hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Mer," he gasped, heart jumping as he tore his eyes from the hauntingly familiar formation speeding up out of the darkness directly at them. "Mer, _run!_ "

"What?" his friend asked, confused as she squinted into the shadows, trying to make out what was heading straight for them. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light…

Dagur grabbed her hand and ran, dragging the princess along after, startling a yelp out of her. "Have you gone mad? What are you-"  
Her furious objection was cut off by an inhuman scream that split the night, heralding the end of life as she knew it.

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 **AN:** Whoops, cliffhanger! Hope you enjoyed! Make sure to leave a review to let me know! They really do help me keep writing! So, really, it's in your best interest ;D


	5. Your Worst Nightmare

**AN:** Thanks so much for all the comments you've left so far, guys! (assuming you're one of the delightful people who has done so, lol. If not, WHY NOT. Srsly)

Get ready for some action these next couple of chapters, and make sure to drop me a review if you enjoyed! They really do help me keep writing ;w;

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Five: Your Worst Nightmare

Something massive rocketed past them and high into the air, the wind of its passing dragging at Merida's curls and skirt. A moment later she realized that it was not some _thing_ _,_ but many some _things_ that soared high into the night sky above them until they were silhouetted by the moon, and the impossible truth was revealed.

Only Dagur's hand, clamped in a death grip around her wrist, kept the princess from stopping dead in her tracks to gape in disbelief at what she was seeing.

"Dragons," she gasped and stumbled as he pulled. "Dragons!"

"Yeah, I saw!" Dagur replied sharply as he glanced skyward and swore when he saw a monstrous nightmare peel off from the pack and head their way. They had re-entered the stretch of forest that cut a swath between the cliffs and the castle, but they'd have to cross open ground again to get to the gate, and the viking had a feeling there'd be something there waiting for them when they did.

"Dagur there's _dragons,_ " Merida repeated, apparently so shocked by this revelation that she was temporarily incapable of focusing on anything else.

"Really gonna need you to get your head in the game here, Mer," Dagur said. "I don't know what in Hel's name is going on, but I really doubt that the dragons are here to make friends, alright?"

The desperation in her friend's tone was enough to snap Merida back to herself. "Can't you just... tame them or something?" she asked as they dodged around a tree and plunged through a thick patch of ferns.

If he hadn't been so busy running, Dagur would have rolled his eyes, but as it was, he didn't dare lest he miss his footing and wind up eating turf for dinner.

"No," he answered, "See the way they're flying? That's a swarm formation, they're getting ready to attack," the man continued, and pointed skyward to where Merida could just make out the dragons converging on the castle through a gap in the forest canopy. "Training dragons one-on-one is hard enough without the entire swarm breathing down your neck." A pained expression crossed his face for a moment and he said, "Though if anyone could, it'd be Hiccup."

"Do you think he's here?" Merida asked, startled, mind reeling at the prospect of Dagur's mad, fantastic stories being true after all. They had paused in the shadow of a large oak to catch their breath and get the lay of the ground between them and the bridge to the castle gate.

"Gods do I wish he were," Dagur answered emphatically as he leaned back against the trunk of the oak, chest heaving. "But no, I don't think he is. He wouldn't be driving dragons towards a bunch of innocents."

"That's what you think this is? You think the dragons came from those ships?" Merida asked and pushed her tangled mass of hair back from her face and checked her quiver. She'd lost a few arrows in their mad dash, but she still had just shy of a dozen left. The rabbit tied to her belt had also disappeared, no doubt having caught on a branch and torn free at some point.

"That's what I'd guess," the viking replied, but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself for now. Before he started hypothesizing what relatively short distance fliers like Gronckles were doing so far across the open sea from the archipelago he had to be sure he got Dunbroch's princess safely within the castle walls.

Dagur leaned out carefully from under cover to see if the coast was clear. Though all the dragons were still airborne, they seemed focused on the defense being mounted from the castle walls, and unconcerned with the gate itself. There was no sign of the monstrous nightmare that had peeled off from the pack before they entered the woods. Perhaps it had given up on waiting and rejoined the others.

"I think we're as clear as we're gonna get," he told Merida and glanced back at her. The woman's heart shaped face was pale, but her expression was determined as she pulled her bow from her back and knocked an arrow to the string in preparation for what was to come.

"I'll follow your lead," she told him, and her unerring confidence in him made Dagur's heart tighten in his chest.

Touched, he nodded. "Right, when I say 'now', we're going to make a break for the gate, okay? Don't bother shooting unless you absolutely have too, that bow's not going to do much against a dragon," he said.

"Well, give me yours then," the princess instructed him. The viking handed his larger weapon over readily in exchange for hers, which he hooked over his chest.

Merida gave the bow and experimental pull, bending it easily despite its heavy draw weight while her friend watched, and warned, "That's not going to do much either. If you do shoot, aim for the eyes or the joint at the base of the wing," he added, then winced, thinking what Hiccup and the others would say. "I take that back, just aim for the wing."

The princess arched a brow at him, and he sighed. "I don't know what's going on here," he explained, "But even back when the dragons were attacking Berk, it wasn't for the reason that people thought. You remember my stories, right?"

Merida's expression softened and she nodded. "Alright then, you big softy. I understand."

The look of relief that crossed his face made the princess smile, thinking he no doubt had his 'brother' on his mind. "So, are we going, or what?" she asked and squared her shoulders, expression fierce.

Dagur nodded, checked the sky once more, then drew his sword and took a breath. "Alright, get ready..."

Silence fell between the pair, and for a moment, the only thing they could hear was the roar and screech of dragons on the air.

"Now!"

Merida and Dagur sprinted out from under the cover of the trees with the viking leading the way, though only by a few strides. The princess cast her eyes skyward to see if the dragons above them had noticed and taken an interest in the sudden flurry of movement from the ground, and in the process, completely missed the monstrous nightmare that slipped silently through the air behind her, claws fully outstretched.

Her friend heard the telltale whistle of air over dragon wing, though, and glanced back. Seeing the horror descending on the princess, Dagur grabbed the woman by the arm and spun them both out of the way, narrowly avoiding the dragon's claws, which snapped shut on empty air.

Though they'd successfully avoided the Nightmare's attack, the sharp movement had sent the pair to the ground as their feet slipped on the uneven surface of the path to the gate. Struggling to get free of her friend, Merida watched as the dragon turned on wingtip and came in for a second pass.

It was a huge creature, and the princess knew from Dagur's descriptions that it was a Monstrous Nightmare. She had never been able to fully appreciate just how apt the name was until one of the creatures was bearing down on her, dagger-like teeth bared.

"Loki curse these stupid-" Dagur snarled, drawing Merida's attention away from their impending doom long enough to realize that both their legs had become tangled in her skirts. Thinking fast, the princess grabbed her friend's sword hand, and guided it down with a sharp jerk that cut through the dark fabric of her gown and freed the viking sufficiently for him to rise to his feet and spin on heel in one fluid movement. Dagur caught its chin with a vicious uppercut that made the creature jerk with a pitiable yelp and forced it to pass directly over their heads.

Merida stared, gape-mouthed, up at her friend as he stood over her, sword in one hand, absently shaking the other that he'd just used to _punch a dragon._

When Dagur offered her his hand up, the princess noted distractedly that he had managed to split his knuckles. She accepted it regardless, and pulled herself to her feet before fetching a new arrow from her quiver after realizing her last one had become lost somewhere along the way.

"You alright, Mer?" Dagur asked, green eyes still locked on the dragon, which had landed and now stood between them and the gate.

It was a massive creature, even among its own kind. The horns that crowned its head were thick and black with only a slight inward curve to them, set just above a pair of luminous yellow eyes with pupils rendered to such narrow slits as to nearly be invisible. Merida thought nothing of it, but to Dagur it was a detail that immediately jumped out to him, though he had no explanation for it. The dragon's heavy scales, cast all in shades of red, were of more interest to the princess. There was no way one of her arrows was getting through all _that._

"A-aye," she managed, trying not to sound as shaken as she felt. You'd think she'd be used to nearly being eaten by large predatory animals by now.

"I'll rush in and distract it," he told her. "While I've got it's attention, you duck past and through the gate, got it?"

"Crivens!" she exclaimed. "There's no way I'm leaving you out here with that thing alone, Dagur."

"But-" he tried to object.

" _No,_ " she said, tone and expression uncompromising as she stared him down.

Knowing he'd never win the argument, Dagur backed down and grumbled, "Stubborn little... _fine._ What do _you_ suggest, then, Princess?"

Merida bit down on her lower lip, eyes flickering over their surroundings, knowing she had only a moment before the dragon got tired of waiting for them to charge and did so itself. Luckily, something presented itself.

"We need to get down into the crevasse under the bridge."

Dagur gave her an uncomprehending look, until the reasoning suddenly occurred to him. "The well!" he said, slapping his forehead with his free hand. The dragon chose that moment to charge, though, and the viking said, "Alright, run!"

The Nightmare snarled as it leaped towards them, bursting into flame as it did so. The aggressive display was enough to give Merida's feet wings, and she sprinted after Dagur. The dragon was faster than a creature its size had any right to be, the princess thought. She could feel the heat of its fire at her back as they neared the gorge, and the fear center of her brain screamed that they weren't going to make it, that the dragon's teeth would be closing around her any moment…

Dagur turned and pushed the princess behind him with one hand, then brought his sword up in an arcing slash that caught the nightmare in the jaw again with the other. This time blood was drawn, and the creature snarled, recoiling sharply at the pain.

"Start climbing!" the viking bellowed at her.

"But-"

"Now!"

Furious, but knowing that every moment she delayed was another her friend would have to face the dragon, Merida hooked Dagur's bow over her shoulder and started climbing down the steep, rocky wall of the gorge towards the water below.

The Nightmare shrieked its fury and lunged at Dagur again, but the viking dodged to one side, and kept moving until the monster's back was to Merida and the gorge. He could just barely make out the noise of people shouting and dragons roaring high above on the castle walls, but he had no time to spare a thought for them just then.

The dragon chose that moment to unleash a blast of fire from its gaping maw, forcing Dagur into motion once more. At the same time, the flames that coursed over the dragon's body died out, and the viking knew it was now or never.

As the Nightmare exhausted one shot and inhaled to take a second, Dagur sprinted straight at the creature with a yell, making it pull back, startled by his sudden change in tactic. The viking dodged in under its wing, then struck at the tender pressure point just behind the corner of its jaw with a sharp jab of his fist. Normally it only took a touch, but Dagur wasn't ready to take the risk that its peculiar state of fixated aggression might affect its sensitivity.

When the dragon went down like a ton of bricks, Dagur blessed Hiccup and the limited lessons he'd received from his brother and the other riders that day three years before. The thought was fleeting, though, as the man found himself buried under one of the nightmare's blood red wings. He grunted when the weight of it hit him, then struggled out from beneath its grasp, resisting the temptation to simply cut his way through the membrane. Even after all of this, Dagur had no real desire to harm the creature. He had no idea just what was going on to make the dragons act this way, but he _did_ know he'd never be able to face Hiccup if he didn't at least try to figure out what in Hel's dark realm was going on.

The Nightmare began to stir just as Dagur managed to drag himself free, and he wasted no time running directly towards the cliff Merida was already at the bottom of. She stood there, blue eyes wide in the moonlight as she appeared to debate on climbing right back up again to rescue him. As soon as the princess spotted him, though, a look of relief spread across her features, and she waved him on.

As Dagur sheathed his sword and began to climb, Merida bit down on one knuckle to keep from shouting for him to hurry, lest her words attract unwanted attention from above. By this time, her legs were numb from knee-to-toe thanks to the frigid water that gushed down between the mainland and the spur of rock on which her ancestral home had been built. It was from this source that the castle drew its water, rather than the inlet into which the river fed below. A few yards behind her was the grate she and her mother had sneaked in through three years before, and though they had no bear to help them through this time, the princess wasn't worried.

After how valuable the entrance had proved to both their survival, Elinor had elected to have the grating fitted with a special mechanism that would open only for those who knew where to find the switch. Only the royal family and a select few staff knew this fact, for the sake of keeping their people safe.

Dagur was halfway down the cliff, now, and the only thing keeping Merida from pacing as she waited was the slick, unsteady footing the riverbed provided. So, instead, she watched his every move obsessively, nearly biting hard enough on her knuckle to draw blood any time he began to slip. As he reached the halfway point, though, movement from the top of the cliff drew the princess's attention.

"Hurry it up, Dagur! This isn't a Sunday morning picnic in the glen," she shouted and dragged his bow from its place across her shoulder.

The Nightmare was back and peering over the edge of the cliff at Dagur, who looked right up into its eyes and blanched. He was still too high up to risk jumping, but before the dragon could even get a wing over the edge of the cliff, Merida had knocked an arrow and fired. The bolt struck the beast directly between the eyes, making it jerk back in surprise. It hadn't even scratched the dragon's scales, but it gave Dagur a moment to collect himself and start climbing down in what amounted to a series of controlled falls.

The dragon tried again to make a move down the cliff, so Merida shouted and fired another arrow, catching it in the nose, then a third to its chest.

"Come on, ya' wretched wyrm, eyes on me!" she called, and the Nightmare snarled in response.

Dagur landed in the water with a splash and a curse before he scrambled to his feet and said, "Alright, enough taunting the beastie, Mer!"

Merida took one last shot, then grabbed Dagur's hand and dragged him over to the well entrance, half-supporting his bulky frame with her own when he slipped and nearly went down. This early in the year, the stream ran high and fast, swollen with ice melt from the highlands and nearly reached their waists at its deepest. The both of them were almost swept away at the halfway point, and only a quick thrust of Dagur's sword into the stream bed kept them from being carried down to the inlet.

Before they could even get their footing, Merida looked around and saw that the dragon had nearly made it to the water, clinging impossibly to the cliff face with the agility of something a fraction its size. It spotted them in the current and opened its mouth, the ominous glow within heralding what was to come.

Without warning, the princess grabbed Dagur by the head and dragged them both back under the surface of the water, the viking's sword the only thing keeping them from being swept away. Light bloomed above them, then faded, and the pair burst to the surface to make a mad dash for the grate.

Dagur latched onto its cold, heavy bars to maintain his footing, dripping wet, sword still clutched tight in one hand. Merida thrust her arm through the grate and felt blindly for the switch she knew was there as a massive splash heralded the advance of the Monstrous Nightmare.

"I hate to be a pest, Mer, but sooner would really-"

"Shut up!" the princess hissed frantically as her numb fingers searched for the right stone.

"Merida!" Dagur shouted, voice shooting up an octave as the dragon charged and he raised his sword.

The catch clicked under Merida's fingers, and the pair of them fell forward when the grate abruptly swung inward, sending them both to their hands and knees in the frigid water. Dagur grabbed his friend by the arm and hauled her deeper into the tunnel, then gave the grate a vicious kick, slamming it shut in the Nightmare's face.

The dragon hissed and shook its head sharply as Dagur said, "We've gotta get deeper in, come on!"

They helped one another to their feet and hurried down the short, narrow tunnel into the well proper, and ducked to one side. A huge gout of flame shot past, and Dagur reflexively folded himself around Merida, pressing her into the cold, wet stone of the well wall. They were both left gasping by the heat of it, but the viking didn't shift when the light died down.

Three more blasts quickly followed, but despite the discomfort of the heat, the dragon's attacks were unable to touch them.

The creature roared its frustration, and they could both hear it pacing irritably back and forth at the well entrance. Eventually, though, it gave up and took to the air once more with a furious screech.

Dagur and Merida both heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. The viking sheathed his sword, and leaned heavily against the wall to catch his breath.

"Seven hells," Merida breathed and hooked his bow back over her shoulder, then ran a shaking hand through her wet, tangled curls.

Her friend nodded in commiseration and clapped one of his broad hands on her shoulder. "Come on, we're not out of this yet," he said with a sigh, then pushed off the wall and turned his gaze up towards the mouth of the well overhead.

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 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Please do remember to drop a review if you enjoyed. It only takes a moment and I can't even begin to explain how much they mean to me!


	6. Rallying Cry

**AN:** Not much to say here this week besides thanks to those of you that have been leaving reviews so far! They mean the world to me and do wonders to help keep me writing. Thanks so much!

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Six: Rallying Cry

Merida sighed at the climb that still awaited them as she turned her attention up to the small circle of dark sky high above their heads. Still, at least her father had seen to having a series of metal rungs installed as a ladder so they wouldn't have to free climb their way up.

"I'll go first," Dagur volunteered, sounding tired but determined.

"No, I'll go," the princess countered quickly and stepped up to the ladder. She gave him a sharp look when he reached out and caught her by the arm to keep her from ascending first. "What?" she asked irritably. "I can _do it,_ you know. Don't go all soft on me now, Dagur or I'll-"

"Give me a free look up your skirts?" he drawled. Merida's mouth dropped open in horror, then shut again with an audible snap as her pale features flushed crimson. "Yeah, that's what I thought," the viking said with a smirk before he adjusted her bow's position across his back, then started up the ladder.

" _One of these days_ , Dagur, I'll convince mum to let me wear pants, and-"

"And then the sun will rise in the West and the moon will rain cheese down into the sea," the man said with a snort of amusement as he climbed, not bothering to glance down at her.

Merida grumbled resentfully at this, but she knew he was probably right, cheese and all. She might have said more, but the sound of battle above them at the mouth of the well was becoming louder with every rung they climbed. For a minute, the princess had actually allowed herself to feel relief that they had made it back to the castle. Now, the fact that their troubles were far from over finally settled in and made her stomach drop.

"We'll have to climb the rope from here," Dagur called down to her as he reached the final rung, which was still several feet shy of the lip of the well. In the distance, someone screamed, making them both flinch.

Clearly not wanting to waste any more time, Dagur grabbed the rope that dangled from the support beam overhead, and gave it a firm tug to be sure that it was secure enough to bear his weight. Satisfied, he transferred his grip and began to climb once more, shimmying up the rope with the sort of practiced ease that no doubt came from years of sailing. When he made it up, Merida followed, though at a slightly slower pace thanks to her skirts. When she reached for the lip of the well, her hand met Dagur's instead, and he hauled her out and onto the grass of the courtyard.

The world around them was pure chaos, full of fire, screaming, and the roars of dragons. Dagur pushed Merida down into the grass as something huge passed overhead, buffeting them with the wind of its passing. The princess twisted in his grip just in time to witness a dragon snatch a guardsman from the wall and cast him down to the ground outside the main gates.

Merida gasped in horror at the sight, and struggled to her feet, fully intent on going to the man's aid. Dagur's hand on her arm stopped her before she took more than a step though, making her snap around and glare at him. "We have to help that man!"

"Look around, princess, we need to help _everyone,_ " Dagur said with an emphatic wave of his hand. The expression on his face was grim, and there was a desperation in those green eyes of his that she had never seen before today.

At his insistence, she looked as she was bid, and was forced to admit that the viking was right. The unfortunate soul that had just been pushed from the battlements was far from the only person that needed help. The best thing they could do for now was turn the tide of the fight. "Alright. We have to find my dad, we have to organize everyone," Merida said, expression settling into similarly grim lines as she pushed her wild red curls back from her face. "Can you do it?" she asked, confidence faltering for just a moment as the enormity of the situation began to catch up with her. "They've never fought a battle like this," she added, gesturing skyward to the dragons on the air. When it came to battles on land, or turning back invaders from the sea, there were few who could compare to the Scots. Fighting an enemy on the wing though...that was new, unfamiliar territory.

"Princess," Dagur said, flashing her a grin that was a curious mix of fierce and resigned as he took her hand in his, "I've been fighting this war since the day I was old enough to lift an axe."

Merida didn't have time to feel relieved, as Dagur chose that moment to drag them both out from the limited cover of the well to make a mad dash across the courtyard toward the stairs. She kept pace with her friend, and together they bounded up the stairs two at a time, pausing at the top so Dagur could grab a discarded shield to protect them both from a sudden hail of spikes from a Deadly Nadder. The barbs thudded heavily into the wooden surface of the shield, making Merida yelp in surprise. Dagur simply unsheathed his sword and scraped the spikes free with a deft swipe.

Realizing her quiver had only two arrows left in it, Merida took a sword from the hand of a guard who lay frighteningly still to their left. She had nothing on Dagur as far as skill went, but the lessons her father had given her had always stuck with her, and she felt better for the heavy length of iron in her hand as they started moving again.

"There! On the North wall!" she said, pointing with her sword to direct Dagur's attention to where she saw her father fighting off a tremendous Zippleback while the men around him attempted to shield themselves from gronkle fire. The creature's twin heads were coming at her father from different angles, keeping him on the defense and unable to retaliate.

Dagur swore silently, then charged ahead, the princess close on his heels. Together, they had to duck for cover more than once, narrowly avoiding being swept off the wall by passing dragons of all sorts. Even the viking didn't recognize some of them, though most were familiar, common breeds from back home. If they hadn't been trying to hard to kill himself and the people he had come to care for like family, he might have felt nostalgic.

As they got close to the king, Dagur spoke to Merida over his shoulder. "Got any arrows?"

"Just the two," she replied, then looked at his own quiver which still hung from his belt. Seeing three arrows still within, she tugged them out and placed them in her own. "Make that five," she corrected.

"Good," the viking said, "I need you to distract those Gronkles overhead so I can get past to your dad. Think you can do it?"

Merida glanced skyward and frowned dubiously. "I don't know. They look so thick-skinned I don't think they'll even feel the arrows," she said. "Maybe if I aim for the eyes..."

"No eye shooting unless someone is literally about to be eaten," Dagur commanded her shortly. He sighed impatiently, then said, "Look, if you can hit them just there at the front of the wing down by the joint, their wing will stop working and they'll spiral. Think you can do that?"

Merida's eyebrows went up at this tidbit of information, but she nodded readily. "Aye," she said, then slipped her borrowed sword into her belt and removed Dagur's bow from her back. The princess knocked one arrow to the string, and kept three more ready in the fingers of the hand that held her bow. Her final arrow she held in her teeth, knowing it'd be faster to fetch it from there than the quiver at her hip.

When she was ready, the redhead nodded to her friend. He flashed her a manic grin, then turned and broke into a dead run along the top of the wall towards Fergus and the Zippleback. Merida followed at a slower pace, shooting arrow after arrow until all three Gronkles that had been harassing her father's men toppled out of the sky as soon as their wing joint was hit, just as Dagur had said they would.

In the meantime, the viking struck the Zippleback's right head at a sprint, his shoulder thrown in behind the weight of his shield, knocking the thing silly so it dropped to the ground, leaving him an opening to leap over its slender neck.

"Your majesty!" the viking shouted, dragging Fergus' attention briefly from the remaining head. "Grab it by the horns and hold it!"

"Are you mad?!" Fergus demanded, but after a moment's hesitation, he growled and did as he was told. He dropped his weapons, then grabbed the Zippleback's remaining head just as it lunged for the kill. It struggled mightily, but the Bear King held on, using his weight to his advantage while the dragon's talons scrambled for purchase on the cobbled stone beneath its feet.

Dagur jumped in as soon as Fergus had a hold on the dragon, and brought the pommel of his sword down on the tender spot just behind its jaw. The Zippleback sagged, then toppled backwards off the wall. Inwardly, the viking flinched, though he buried the response for the time being. He couldn't pity the dragons, not right now. Not while Dunbroch was under siege.

"Crivens, lad!" Fergus exclaimed as he grabbed up his sword and shield once more, a bewildered expression on his face. "How did you-"

"He's a _dragon rider,_ dad!" Merida interrupted as she approached, bow still in hand and ready to fire at a moment's notice. "Just like he said; it's all true!"

"Merida!" the king exclaimed, then swept her up into a one armed hug with his shield arm and squeezed her tight enough to make her squeak in protest while the guards and her friend looked on. "By all the gods, lass, we were worried sick! Your mother feared you'd been carried off for sure."

"I'm fine, dad, just let me down!" the princess wheezed, then gasped for air when her father finally obliged. Before Fergus could start in again, Merida waved Dagur forward and said "You need to listen to Dagur, dad. He's the only one of us who knows how to fight these things."

Fergus opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, sharply. He seemed torn for a moment, until the unearthly shriek of a dragon in the distance seemed to make up his mind for him. "Alright, lad," he said, expression completely serious as he turned his eyes on Dagur. "What do we need to do?"

Dagur looked at Merida, and then at her father. The fact that all their fates might rest in his hands made the viking's stomach turn. It wasn't his first time in command of a force of men; he was the son of a chief, after all. It was, however, his first time in charge of a band of warriors that he _cared about._ Sure, they'd all thought he was a nut with his tales of dragons and the vikings that rode them, but he could hardly blame them. Clan Dunbroch had taken him in, despite being not only a stranger, but one of their traditionally most hated enemies. In spite of that, they had tended his wounds, given him a place to stay, and good steady work. Their princess was his best friend, and possibly closer to him than his own sister had ever been.

He'd lay down his life for these people, and now they'd put their fate in his hands…

Dagur took a steadying breath as he shouldered the weight of that fact, then said, "First off, do you have any siege weapons?"

Looking a little abashed, the king shook his head. "No, none of that. We've not laid siege to someone since the clans united," he admitted.

Their temporary commander nodded, having figured as much. "Alright. Then you need to get every fighter you've got up on these walls," he instructed after taking a brief look around them. The dragon attack appeared to have petered off for the moment, but he could see them massing in the distance; a huge swarm of fire breathing destruction ready to swoop in and lay waste to the lot of them at a moment's notice. Turning his attention back to the people at hand, Dagur continued. "Group them in threes if you can. One man to shield, one with a bow, and a third with a spear. Otherwise, combine the shield and spear wielder duties so we get maximum coverage. Fend them off as you can, though the wing joints and eyes are the major weak points. Most dragon's bellies are weak to spear attack as well, though not all. You'll be able to tell when they're too heavily armored."

The guards looked at the king expectantly, and the mountain of a man nodded. Merida continued watching Dagur, noting the subtle shift in his expression that belied how uncomfortable he was ordering the men to give killing blows to what he was convinced were innocent creatures. She felt for her friend, but at the same time she was grateful. Her people were hurt and dying, and if it came between them and the dragons, well...she'd choose the people of Dunbroch every time.

"Let's do it, then, before our nasty little friends come back," Fergus said and stood straight once more, sword in hand. "You head for the west side of the castle and gather up everyone you find and put them to work, I'll take the east," the king instructed Dagur after clapping him briefly on the shoulder with one of his tremendous hands.

Dagur just nodded, then turned to do as he was told. The king's sharp call of, "Hold on just a minute there!" brought him up short again, and made him look around. Only a few paces behind him, Merida winced, having clearly intended to follow him.

"You're not goin' with him, lass," Fergus growled at his eldest child. "You're going inside and helping your mother organize our people. Last I saw they were barricading the windows."

"But dad!" the princess objected fiercely as she spun to face him. "Let me help! I'm the best shot we've got! You can't expect me to just sit inside and wait-"

A hand on her shoulder made her turn to face Dagur. His expression and tone were serious as he said "Your dad's right, Mer, you need to get under cover."

"What?" she asked, feeling betrayed by her best friend. "Dagur-"

"No one expects you to sit around playing damsel in distress, Princess," the viking told her, voice sharp as he cut her off. He softened a little as he waved a hand to the courtyard below. "We need to get the injured inside and patched up. There'll be more before long, and you know what you're about when it comes to patching a body up," he said, the hint of a smile tugging at his thin lips.

Merida eyed her friend narrowly, on the lookout for any sign of pity or falsehood on his part. He met her gaze steadily, though, and she heaved a sigh, knowing that he was right. "Okay, alright, you great lout. You don't have to go all noble on me," she grumbled, then slung his bow across her shoulders once more and started off. As she passed him, she paused long enough to lay a hand on his arm and say, "But be _careful._ If you ruin all that hard work I did putting you back together when we found you, I'll be angry, you hear me? And you won't like me when I'm angry."

Dagur really did smile then, and pushed her away with an affectionate shove before setting off at a jog, bellowing orders at every able bodied man he came across.

"Merida," Fergus called, pulling the princess' attention from Dagur's retreating figure.

"Aye, I know, I'm going," the girl said as she started walking herself.

Her father brought her up short, though, when he said, "Before you go in, I've one more task for you." Merida shot him a curious look, and he continued, "I sent a man to the top of the keep to light the signal beacon. I want you to go check that he made it."

The princess nodded, "I'm on it." Before she left, though, she threw her arms around her father's thick waist and gave him a brief, tight hug. Surprised by the sudden show of affection, Fergus didn't have time to return the gesture before his daughter broke away and set off at a quick trot across the wall.

Fergus smiled after her in spite of the fear that churned in his gut. He was so proud of how his daughter had grown and matured over the last two years. With this new and unfamiliar threat hanging over his kingdom, though, he feared for all his family, and his people. Even with Dagur's help organizing the best defense they could manage, they would need help if they were to have any hope of turning the tide.

The king gave a start as the feral shrieks of dragons reached his ears, closer than they had been, but difficult to pick out against the night sky.  
"Men to me!" be bellowed as he ran. "Guards to the walls!"

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! One more action chapter to go, and then we head back to Berk! ;D  
Please do leave a review if you enjoyed, they do wonders to keep me writing!


	7. Promises

**AN:** Whoops, totally forgot the post this yesterday! Sorry for the delay, guys! I really need to set a reminder on my calender or something...

Remember to drop a review if you enjoy! Hearing from you guys absolutely means the world to me, you have no idea ;w;

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
Chapter Seven:** Promises

The fact that dragons of Dagur's fantastical stories were not only real, but at the walls of her own home continued to echo in Merida's thoughts as she made her way up into the highest reaches of the keep.

If that much of her friend's tales were true, then surely the rest was as well? That meant that somewhere out in the world there was an entire island of people who lived with dragons, were friends with dragons, who _rode dragons_. Dagur had been one of them, and his sister was one as well. That meant that Hiccup and Astrid, Stoic the Vast, and all the people of Berk were real!

It was almost too much for the princess to wrap her head around. Then again, this wasn't exactly the first time a fairy tale had proved to be true in her life. Somehow, though, Merida couldn't help but think that the appearance of dragons in the sky above her home was much more magical than the time she'd accidentally turned her mom into a bear.

Too bad her would-be fairy tale was attacking the castle.

A tremor of fear ran up Merida's spine as she climbed the tower stairs, the stone walls bouncing the cries of men and dragons alike crazily around her, distorting them into something unearthly and even more terrifying. She pushed on, though, chest heaving with exertion by the time she reached the final flight of stairs.

She paused in the faint light of a discarded torch that had burned down to little more than embers on the landing. Luckily, the wood in this part of the tower was well aged and did not burn easily, so there was little more than a charred outline at her feet when Merida bent and picked up the torch, unease settling over her like a mantle.

It was dark, that high in the keep, so she carefully blew on the torch to coax the flames back to life. Lifting it high and peering around the next set of stairs, the princess' stomach dropped at the sight of a motionless figure lying in a heap before the open trap door to the roof. The sound of something heavy moving across the tiles overhead made her freeze mid-step and cast her eyes upward. A fine sprinkling of dust drifted down, and Merida was forced to clap a hand over her nose and mouth to keep from sneezing as she blinked furtively against the particles.

The sound stopped after a minute, and hoping against hope, the princess crept slowly up the stairs, keeping the torch behind her so its light would not give her position away to whatever might be waiting above.

The body on the stairs proved to be one of the guards, no doubt the man her father had sent to light the beacon. She paused beside him, but it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that the man was dead. He had been clawed from navel to throat, but it was the series of heavy looking spikes lodged in his sternum that had apparently done him in.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered and brushed her fingertips over his eyelids to close them, tears springing to her own. She didn't know the man's name, but she did recognize him, making her regret the gap in her knowledge.

The pressing matter of the beacon kept Merida moving, though she had to step carefully over the body of the man who had come before her. She needed to know if he had succeeded in his mission before he met his end. Her inner coward whispered that she could turn back now, go find another guard to come back with her to step into the unknown and complete the mission for her. No one would blame her...but Merida knew she'd never be able to live with herself if she did. The man behind her had given his life for the kingdom; how could she call herself Dunbroch's princess if she wasn't willing to do the same?

The princess took a deep breath as she stood just below the open trapdoor and took a moment to rally her bravery before she slowly, carefully, poked her head through to see what waited there.

Perched on the edge of the roof with their backs to her were two dragons, both Deadly Nadders, though one was quite a lot larger than the other. They chirped and hissed quietly to one another, sidling uneasily in place as they watched the courtyard below, looking as though they were waiting for something. Between them and Merida, though, was the beacon, which remained unlit, meaning the clans were yet ignorant to the trouble their king was in; unaware of what might be coming for them next.

Heart pounding but her teeth grit in determination, the princess crept quietly out onto the roof, gaze intent on the beacon. If she could just get close enough without either dragon turning around to notice her…

The already tattered hem of Merida's skirt caught on a roof tile, making the redhead miss her footing and fall to her knees with a clatter. She reflexively threw her hands out to catch herself, and in the process, dropped her torch. A little cry of dismay escaped her as she watched it roll down the incline and topple off into the darkness.

The princess swore quietly, then whipped around when she realized the noise from the pair of Nadders had suddenly increased. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when she realized that both dragons had turned to look at her, their heads bobbing like birds' as they watched her with first one eye, and then the other. All at once, they sprang across the roof, wings half-flared, and talons extended before them.

With a yelp, the redhead rolled sideways, only just avoiding the largest Nadder's attack as it crashed into the roof feet first and nearly slid right off the side after her torch. The smaller of the pair did just that, and was forced to fly back up again, though it did not land. Instead, it circled the roof. Unwilling to contend with two dragons in such a small, dangerous area, Merida pulled Dagur's mighty bow from her back and knocked an arrow to the string. She circled carefully sideways, tracking its path through the air as she simultaneously kept its companion in her periphery.

When she had her mark, she loosed the arrow, and struck the smaller Nadder dead in one of his luminous golden eyes, making it shriek in agony, its wingbeats suddenly unsteady and erratic, forcing it to the grounds outside the castle walls. As Merida turned to face the remaining dragon, she felt a pang of guilt for the pain she had wrought on what her best friend insisted was an innocent creature. Still, her father and the people of Dunbroch were relying on _her_ to get the beacon lit to summon help from the clans. In the face of that, one ruined eye seemed like so little.

The dragon hissed, and Merida watched as the foot long spines on its tail flexed, ready to fire. Realizing she had no possible way to counter such a strike, the princess instinctively threw herself forward into the incline of the roof, the tiles there cutting into her palms as the dragon's spines hissed over her head and into the night air. She had no idea how quickly those spines could grow back, but from what she could see, the Nadder was out. Apparently she hadn't been its first target that evening.

With a sickening lurch of her stomach, she realized that the guard in the stairwell below her must have been slower to duck than his princess.

A sharp sparking sound reached her ears, and Merida rolled sideways again just in time to avoid being charbroiled by the Nadder's bright, glittering fire. It tracked her with its head as it exhaled, forcing the princess to continue rolling until she was at the edge of the roof, clinging for dear life, torn between falling to her death and burning alive.

Fortune smiled on her, though, and the Nadder's fireblast ran out just before it reached her, forcing it to take a moment to inhale for a second round. Knowing what she had to do now, Merida pushed herself to her feet, slung Dagur's bow over her shoulder once more, and darted up the incline of the roof as fast as she could over the uneven surface, boots skittering unsteadily against the tiles.

"Hey! Come on you great stupid bird!" she shouted at the Nadder as she put the beacon between herself and the dragon. "Your mother was a chicken and your father was a peahen, and you've not got the brains of either!" the girl said as she waved her hands frantically to keep its attention on her; not that it seemed to have any trouble doing that. Dagur had always insisted that dragons were quite intelligent, but if that were the case, then this one was unfamiliar with human insults.

There was that distinct sparking noise again, telegraphing the incoming attack and allowing Merida time to jump for the trapdoor. The redhead tumbled halfway down the first flight before she was able to find a foothold and bring herself to a stop. Above her, flames engulfed the beacon, and a good section of the roof besides, but the fire rolled harmlessly off the tiles. The princess didn't quite dare close the trap door into the tower yet, though, knowing she had to verify that the beacon remained lit, and that the one on the far peak, only just visible from the castle, lit in response, signalling that their call for help had been received.

Merida took a moment to catch her breath, hands trembling with exertion and spent adrenaline as she gripped the frame of the trapdoor and lifted her head out into the night air once more. To her immense relief, the Nadder was gone, winging away to wreak havoc elsewhere, perhaps startled away by the beacon when it lit, flaring to life with a vengeance. Fueled by resin heavy wood from the forest below the castle, the fire burned high and bright.

Desperate, the princess turned and stared out into the black, velvety swath of the night for a long minute, waiting with bated breath. When the answering beacon on the far peak pierced the dark between them, Merida sagged onto the stairs and simply lay there for a moment as she caught her breath, then reached up and closed the door to the roof with a sharp snap. Before she started the long climb back down, she bolted it tight, and arranged the body of the dead guard as neatly as she could manage on the landing below until he could be fetched down and given a proper burial.

The great hall was in a state of barely contained chaos when she finally reached it, her mother reigning at the center of it all. Standing on the dais, Elinor handed out instructions in her sharp, clear voice as the boys ran here and there, doing as she bid them when she had a spare breath.

Merida shouldered her way through the crowd until she found herself at the base of the dais steps, face-to-knee with her mother. She looked up into Elinor's shocked brown eyes and said, "Hey, mum. I'm back," with the sort of nonchalance she knew her mother hated. She'd never been good with emotional moments, though, and it was all she could do to keep the tears back, so she covered them with a lopsided sort of smile.

"Merida!" Elinor exclaimed, going pale, then flush as she threw herself at her daughter. The queen threw her arms around the princess and rained kisses down on her pale, upturned face. "Oh, heavens bless, my darling, I thought we'd lost you for sure this time," she whispered, voice choked as she held Merida close.

Knowing the stress her mother must have been under, Merida allowed her the uncomfortable shower of affection, and even hugged her back. She buried her face in Elinor's shoulder and inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent of her wool gown. "I'm alright, mum, I swear," she reassured the queen when she finally pulled away and smiled weakly up at Elinor. "Dagur and I were just outside the gates when the dragons came. They cut us off, but we came up through the well entrance."

"Och, thank goodness we put that in," Elinor murmured as she brushed her fingers fretfully over her daughter's wild curls. "But look at you," the woman exclaimed as her eyes finally left Merida's face and traveled down the length of her ruined, bloodied gown. "Are you hurt?" she asked, gaze fixated on the gorey stain that marred her daughter's hip.

"I'm fine, I promise!" Merida said, waving off her mother's attention. "It's just rabbit blood, not mine," she reassured her.

"And Dagur? He's alright?" the queen asked, brow furrowed as she glanced over the crowd of people crammed into the great hall. They were mostly women and children, as well as a few men too elderly or injured to fight.

Merida nodded. "He's up on the wall with dad organizing the defenses."

Elinor's frown deepened a little at this news, then softened. Her lips twisted into a rueful sort of smile when she met her daughter's eyes again. "I'm glad. If anyone can help us turn the tide, it's him." She heaved a sigh and continued, "Lord but I owe him an apology, thinking him mad all this time..."

A sharp laugh escaped Merida then, and she said, "We _all_ owe him one, I think." The princess stepped up onto the dais beside her mother and said, "There's plenty of wounded out there, mum. I was going to organize a group to start bringing them in to be cared for. I figure we can use some of the bigger, stronger lasses since all the fighters are needed up on the walls. With the infirmary being on the other side of the castle, though, we ought to set up either in here, or one of the adjacent rooms."

Elinor watched her daughter as the princess spoke quickly, but with confidence, her bright blue eyes already darting out across the crowd, looking for those likely to be of use. She abhorred the idea of sending Merida back out into danger so soon after getting her back, but she had also never been so proud of her. She had stepped up and taken charge so easily, it was everything the queen had ever hoped for her daughter.

"Alright, take who you need, I'll send someone for the healer. We'll relegate half the hall to the wounded, and move up into the gallery chambers if we have to," Elinor agreed with a firm nod of her head. Before her daughter could leave on her self appointed mission, though, the queen brushed her hand over those familiar red curls one more time and said, "Be safe."

"Oh, you know me, mum. Safest girl around," Merida joked, though her smile was soft and earnest before she turned and started gathering the strongest looking people she could lay eyes on.

* * *

As dawn began to color the distant horizon, the onslaught of dragons broke off as suddenly as it had begun. As soon as it was apparent that this was not another ploy to catch the castle defenders off guard, Merida and Elinor made their way up to the wall in search of Dagur and Fergus.

The princess released a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding when she and her mother found both men on the eastern wall overlooking the inlet, more or less in one piece.

"Fergus," Elinor called, attracting both men's attention. The king's expression immediately lightened when he saw his wife striding towards him across the parapet with his daughter in tow. Merida's mother kept up her regal bearing until the last moment, whereupon she threw herself into her husband's waiting arms. "Oh Fergus," she said, words muffled by as she buried her face into the broad expanse of the king's chest.

Fergus chuckled but wrapped Elinor up tight in his powerful arms. "Aye, lass, I'm alright. I'm alright," he murmured in her ear as he rocked her gently in place.

Merida smiled a little at her parents as they took comfort in one another after the waking nightmare that had preceded the dawn. Her attention was soon diverted by Dagur, though, who leaned heavily against the embrasure nearby, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You alright?" he asked the princess, voice low as he looked her over.

"Aye, I'm fine," Merida answered quickly with a tired flap of a hand. She hadn't had time to change yet, so her gown was still a gorey, shredded mess, but that had hardly been the most important thing when so many of their people had been injured. She and her 'team' had worked hard bringing in the wounded from the courtyard and walls. There had been a frightening number of them, and so when they had all been recovered, the princess had immediately set to assisting the healer with her own meager skills.

The past several hours had been nothing but screams of the wounded, blood on her hands, and miles of bandages put to use. For the first time, Merida was able to truly appreciate all the work she, her mother, and the other castle residents had put into putting aside emergency stores of not only food, but medical supplies. She had hated every minute of cutting and rolling those bandages while doing it, but now, she thought, she would never resent the chore again. Without them, a great many more people would have died. As it was, she, the healer, and any other women with steady hands and a good ear for instructions that the healer had drafted, had lost only a few patients. Some had come to them already gone, others had sustained wounds too devastating to mend.

She'd probably have a breakdown later, but for the moment, Merida was mostly relieved that the nightmare was finally over.

"Wish I could say the same for you, though," she mused as she stepped closer to Dagur while her parents continued having their little moment. Her friend had acquired several new injuries since she'd last seen him a few hours before. Particularly nasty were the fresh burn on his left forearm, and a cut on his right temple that was still bleeding sluggishly.

The viking glanced down at himself and gave a careless sort of shrug. "I've had worse," he said, making Merida roll her eyes at his bravado. She knew for a fact that this was true, but in her mind that didn't detract from the the importance of the injuries he currently had. The princess pulled a clean handkerchief from her belt pouch and dabbed gently at her friend's temple. He flinched a little, but left her to it, unwilling to argue with the redhead. He was far too tired. "How about everyone else?" Dagur asked, then hesitated a moment before continuing, "How many did we..."

"Lose?" Merida finished for him with a sad sort of smile, her hand dropping from his temple. "We've been pretty lucky, if you can call it that," she said with a sour twist of her lips. "There've only been a few we weren't able to save so far. There's a few more we're still worried over, but..."

Dagur nodded, saving the princess the effort of explaining further. As the sun crept up over the line of the horizon, the viking sighed and admitted, "I'm _exhausted,_ " then bent over and allowed his head to drop onto Merida's shoulder.

The princess tensed a little in surprise at the sudden contact, then relaxed. She didn't speak, simply lifted a hand and rubbed absent little circles across his broad shoulders. She didn't need to say a thing; she felt Dagur's words right down to her bones, and Merida knew he did too. After a moment, the girl let her eyes close and she tilted her head so her cheek rested against his, and simply focused on breathing.

The heavy, acrid scent of dragon smoke filled her nose, accompanied by copper undertones of blood and Dagur's own sweat. Not the most pleasant mix, but Merida doubted she smelled much better. In that moment, she couldn't have cared less anyways. The reassurance of physical contact with her dear friend was all that she really needed, and it was apparent that he craved much the same. He didn't move to touch her further, but he did lean into her shoulder a little more when her hand moved from his back, up to his hair. The color was so close to her own, though with none of the curl. It had grown out over the three years since he'd first arrived, allowing him to pull the lot back into a ponytail at the back of his head.

The sharp clearing of a throat brought Merida and Dagur both back to the present. When the princess opened her eyes, she saw her mother watching them with an arched brow, though to the girl's surprise, the queen made no comment. Apparently Dagur's valiant efforts that night had inclined her mother to being a little more indulgent towards the foreign man's interactions with her daughter.

Fergus was trying to muffle a smile when the blare of trumpets made all four of them turn and look down at the ground outside the castle gates. The melody was a familiar one, as was the group of people that stepped out of the treeline and stood just out of bow range.

Viggo, looking as smug as ever, stood at the head of the group, though he was flanked on either side by bulky looking men carrying shields. Unlike last time, the entire group was heavily armed.

"Your majesties! I'm so glad you made it to the dawn," Viggo shouted across the clearing as he offered them an elaborate, mocking bow. "Did my friends keep you entertained in my absence?"

"Come closer and I'll show you how entertained I was!" the Bear King bellowed back, teeth bared in his fury.

The viking just laughed. "No, my friend, I don't think that will be necessary," he said, the continued, "Have you reconsidered my previous offer? It still stands, gold and all."

The torrent of anger and foul words that poured out of her father then quite took Merida's breath away, leaving her and Dagur staring at the man as though seeing him for the first time. Elinor simply dropped her head in her hands and waited it out.

When Fergus finally had to pause for a breath, Elinor stepped forward, and in a loud, clear voice, said, "Thank you, but no, Viggo Grimborn. Dunbroch and her people will never fall to the machinations of low men such as yourself. We have ruled these lands for seven generations, we will not be pushed from them so easily, dragons or no."

Dagur stepped up onto the embrasure then, and flashed his fellow viking his toothiest, most dangerous smile. "Don't worry, Viggo, I've told their majesties all about you. Hiccup may have kicked your sorry arse out of the archipelago, but you won't find any easy pickings here!" he declared and struck the chest of his leather armor with one fist to drive his point home.

For the first time, Viggo looked genuinely surprised. It only lasted a moment, though, and soon the man was laughing again. "Dagur the Deranged! Surely the Norns smile on me this day!" he said, throwing his hands wide and glancing skyward as though in thanks to a higher power. He dropped his gaze again and favored the redheaded viking with a wolfish smile as he spoke, "First I will take this castle, and then...then I'll have my revenge on _you,_ Dagur, son of Oswald, Chief of the Berserker tribe! Ooh-" he paused then, and gave the man a pitying look. "Or should I say, Chief of the _former_ Berserker Tribe?"

Dagur's expression twisted into something so full of hate and anger that Merida actually took a step back from him. "I'm going to kill you, Viggo!" he howled, and for a moment, seemed as though he were ready to leap into the air like a feral dragon and do just that. Terrified for her friend, the princess grabbed him by the belt and dragged him back down onto the walkway.

"Let me go, Mer!" he snarled, green eyes blazing as he glared back over his shoulder at her.

"So you can do what?!" she demanded furiously. "Jump to your death? Not bloody likely!"

Dagur's chest heaved like a bellows as he fought against the fury that had bloomed so unexpectedly in him, but her words seemed to get through, and he stopped fighting against her grip. When she was sure he wasn't about to do anything stupid, the princess released her hold on him. She grimaced as Viggo's mocking laughter filtered up to them from below, but instead of approaching the edge of the wall again, Merida took Dagur's hand and tugged him back towards the stairs.

The viking hesitated, then followed. In the distance, Viggo called, "I will return tomorrow at dawn, and every dawn after that until you surrender, your majesties. However, you will find that my offer will decrease in its generosity with each day that passes." His words were met with only silence from Elinor and Fergus, so he continued, "You'll have until sunset before my friends return. If you change your mind, fly a white flag from your highest tower, and we will discuss terms."

Neither Merida nor Dagur saw what happened next as they tromped down the stairs and into the courtyard, each angry in their own way, and for their own reasons.

"Dagur," the princess said, then paused and turned to face her friend before they reached the door to the great hall. He looked at her, brow furrowed in question until she continued, "If you don't kill that slimy bastard, _I will,_ do you understand me?"

The viking blinked at her in surprise, then smiled wickedly at the princess and offered her a hand to shake. "Fair enough, Mer. Fair enough."  
The woman nodded, and they clasped forearms with a firm grip.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! We're back on Berk next chapter, so look forward to finally hearing from Hiccup again ;D

Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed! My muse needs them to survive!


	8. Anniversaries

**AN:** Welcome to the "meanwhile, in berk" chapter XD Remember to drop a review if you enjoy, they really do help me keep writing, and they only take a few moments of your time! Like for real, though, you're getting free entertainment here, throw me a bone and let me know what you thought!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Eight: Anniversaries

The second anniversary of Stoick the Vast's death dawned windy and cold with the snow falling sideways. As the storm howled in the eaves of their home, Hiccup and Valka went about their morning much as they normally would, though without their usual idle chatter. Breakfast was eaten in pensive silence that affected even Toothless and Cloudjumper. Both dragons lurked amongst the rafters of the house, chirping quietly to one another as the quiet morning wore on. Occasionally the Nightfury would descend to rub his broad head along Hiccup's arm, making the chief stroke his scaly brow more out of reflex than sincere intent.

Hiccup didn't think that dragons had much of a grasp of dates, but it was still apparent that both understood the day was an important, solemn occasion.

Personal tragedy aside, Hiccup still had to go to the great hall, though all he really wanted to do was lie in bed and not come out until the next morning. Guilt always ate him up on the anniversary of his father's death, and he knew it wasn't any easier for his mother. Still, the anniversary of Valka's presumed death had never kept Stoick abed in all the years Hiccup could remember, so the young chief forced himself to follow in his father's footsteps and continue to put the needs of Berk over his own.

After donning his heavy, fur-lined cloak and drawing the hood up over his head, Hiccup made for the door, Toothless in tow, and was surprised to find his mother there already.

"Mom," he said, pausing, brow furrowed in concern. "You don't...you don't have to come, you know," he told her, voice low as he approached. "You can stay here today, no one would think any less-"

"I'm coming, Hiccup, and that's the last we'll hear of it," the slender woman said, tone brooking no argument as she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze.

A small smile tugged at the man's lips, and he couldn't say that he wasn't glad of the company. Last year, Valka _had_ remained at home, too eaten up by her grief to manage to leave the house. While Hiccup had his own regret with a healthy dose of guilt on top, he knew that, in some ways, Stoick's untimely death had been even worse for her. While her son had had the past twenty years with the chief of Berk, she had not, and to lose him again so soon after reuniting with the love of her life had been a harsh blow that left behind deep scars on her tender heart.

"Alright, we'd better go before they come looking for us then," he told her, mustering his best smile for Valka's sake, even if it did feel dangerously fragile. Her's wasn't much better, but it was the effort that counted and served to bolster each other.

Mother and son ventured out into the storm, though neither of them paid it much mind. Intense weather was the norm on their island home, after all. They did, however, fly low once they had mounted their dragons, weaving between the taller buildings and along the overhanging cliffs to avoid the worst of the winds that howled over the peak. On their way, they passed the towering statue of Stoick that had been erected by the village shortly after his death, and Hiccup noted that, once again, small offerings had been left at its base. Mostly they were tucked up in the lee so they would not be blown away, and the young chief wondered if they represented the prayers of the villagers, or were simply tokens of remembrance.

When they entered the great hall, Hiccup, Valka, and the dragons all heaved a sigh of relief to be out of the wind. Someone had apparently beat them there that morning, and already set a roaring fire in the pit at the center of the room. Before he could begin to wonder who, Astrid stepped into the main chamber from one of the side rooms, and smiled at them both.

"You know you don't have to do this to yourself every year, right?" his second in command asked him before wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Yeah," Hiccup acknowledged with a sigh as he returned the welcome embrace. "You knew I would anyways, though, huh?" he asked, breaking into a smile of his own now as he glanced meaningfully at the fire.

Astrid chuckled and released him, then punched him lightly in the arm. "You always _have_ been a glutton for punishment," she teased in an attempt to lighten his mood, which her chief could not but appreciate.

"Thank you, Astrid, that was very thoughtful of you," Valka said after she'd waved off Toothless and Cloudjumper before they could both shake off their snow damp hides all over the lot of them.

"Not a problem," the blonde replied, then offered Valka a hug as well, which the older woman readily accepted. The pair had gotten along swimmingly since they day they'd met, dark though it had been. It was fortunate for Hiccup, anyways, as together the pair took it upon themselves to keep him on track. They both liked to pretend that they weren't doing just that, but Stoick hadn't raised a fool, and Hiccup saw through them. Still, he appreciated it. Without their help, he was sure he would have crumbled long before now, and allowed Berk to fall to chaos.

"Let them come over before they freeze, Astrid," a new voice called lightly across the chamber, making all three turn to look.

Heather stood at the far end of the raised firepit with a jug of something in her hands. Her black hair was pulled back in its usual braid, though she lacked her customary armor. Toothless and Cloudjumper threatened to mob the woman when they spotted her, making her laugh and carefully hold up her jug to keep its contents from spilling as they frolicked about her.

"Alright, alright! Nice to see you boys too," she said with a laugh as she pushed at Toothless' head with her free hand, only to nearly be knocked over when Cloudjumper affectionately bumped her back with his broad brow. "Stormfly and Windshear are out back. We brought in a load of tuna when we came."

"Cloudjumper! Honestly, where are your manners. Leave the poor girl alone," Valka chastised her dragon and shooed him and Toothless both away from Heather as she approached, shedding her cloak in the process.

Toothless let out one of his low chortles of amusement when the other dragon was called out, though immediately ducked his head when Hiccup wagged a finger at him. "Mom's right. Out with you. Go eat and cool down; come back when you're not bouncing off the walls you crazy lizard."

The Nightfury pulled a face, but the temptation of food was too much for him to bear, so he quickly followed Cloudjumper out the side door and into the sheltered area were one of the dragon feeding troughs waited, apparently filled by Astrid and Heather.

"Good to see you again, Heather," he told the woman as he too shed his cloak and tossed it over the high backed chair that was traditionally his as chief whenever he held audience. "You're back sooner than I expected," he added after a moment's thought, brow furrowed in concern. "You're alright?"

"Yes, Chief, Windshear and I are both fine," the woman said with a roll of her eyes, though a warm smile pulled at her lips in the face of his concern. "I just...thought I might be needed here for awhile," she continued, words heavy with meaning as she searched his eyes with her pale green ones.

Knowing precisely what she was saying, Hiccup went quiet, then nodded. She'd come back in anticipation of the anniversary, no doubt intent on helping her chief as much as she could in his time of need. "I-" throat unexpectedly night, the man was forced to clear it before trying again. "Yes, thank you. It's good to have you home, Heather," he said, expression painfully earnest as he reached out and gripped her shoulder affectionately.

Heather flushed a little under his regard, then nodded. "Of course. It's always good to be home," she said, then glanced at Astrid, who caught her eyes and smiled. The rider's flush deepened, and Hiccup caught his mother looking speculatively between the other two women, and knew she was thinking of what he'd told her about their relationship a few days before.

"Well, what have we got on the docket today?" the man asked as he settled into his seat at the table that had been built around the expansive firepit, his metal leg clanging sharply as it fetched up against the stone wall of the pit.

"Not much, actually," Astrid said as she settled into the chair next to his. "No appointments scheduled, though I expect we'll see a few people coming in for an audience over the course of the day."

Hiccup's eyes narrowed suspiciously at this news while Heather busied herself pouring drinks into the cups she'd brought along. Astrid just smiled at him innocently, and the chief sat back in his chair with a groan as he realized his second in command, and possibly his mother as well, judging by the way she was looking anywhere but at him, had conspired to essentially give him a free day.

"You're all terrible," he groused, though it was half-hearted. Still, he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't a little relieved to know that he wouldn't have to do any difficult work for the day. He always felt so _tired_ on the anniversary, and the world always seemed a little darker. There in the company of his friends and family by the roaring fire, though, things seemed just a little bit brighter, and the day a little less insurmountable.

"Yes, but you love us anyways," Astrid teased him lightly as she took one of the cups Heather had poured and placed it in front of him before taking another for herself.

Hiccup rolled his eyes, and his mother smiled as Heather brought her a steaming cup as well. "What's this?" Valka asked, and sniffed it curiously.

"Rosehip tea," Heather said, then pushed a little jar of honey towards them along the length of the table. "Tastes good, and it's good for you," she added, a distant smile on her face as she continued. "My mother used to make it all the time."

Knowing Heather's background as she did, Valka nodded gratefully. "Thank you, dear. It smells wonderful"

Hiccup sniffed his as well, and had to admit that the tea's scent was a pleasing one. He followed Heather's lead and added a generous dollop of honey to his and stirred it before taking a sip. "It's good," he admitted, pleasantly surprised. Before he could say more, though, the room erupted into chaos as not only Toothless, Cloudjumper, Windshear, and Stormfly burst in through the side door, but Hookfang as well.

"Close the door you monsters!" Hiccup hollered over the noise.

"Alright alright, keep your helmet on!" Snotlout shouted back as he threw his shoulder into the door and closed it behind him, nearly slipping on the snow and ice the dragons had dragged in with them.

"Hey, Snotlout," Astrid greeted her fellow rider as she got to her feet and relieved him of the sizeable bottle he had brought with him. "What's this?"

"Oh, some of mom's special mead," the man said with a smug grin as he stroked the beard he'd been cultivating with calloused fingers. "The real good stuff. Set it by the fire to warm and we'll pass it around."

Hiccup gave a low whistle of appreciation as he took the bottle from his second in command and placed it at the edge of the firepit as suggested. If there was something the Jorgenson's were known for (besides being thick headed and stubborn as a yak), it was their mead. Its recipe was a closely guarded secret passed down from mother to daughter in their family for generations.

"Thanks, Snotlout," the chief said to the other man with a smile, to which Snot only shrugged and waved a hand at him.

"Whatever, we've got plenty," he said in an attempt to play off the generous gift. "We got any more cups around? I mean, _I_ don't mind drinking from a bottle, but - "

"I'm sure we've got some here somewhere, I'll just go have a look," Valka volunteered as she pushed back her chair from the table. Several of the younger vikings offered to go in her stead, but the older woman would have none of it, though she did allow Heather to come with her to carry the extras.

The morning wore on into the afternoon more quickly than Hiccup could have guessed (or hoped) it would. Ruff and Tuff showed up not much later after Snotlout, and Fishlegs arrived in time for lunch, which he had generously brought with him after drafting some of the academy students to carry the lot of food over to the great hall. Apparently several families had chipped in to cook it all, and Hiccup felt dangerously close to tearing up as he stood by and watched them lay out the spread. He offered his assistance constantly, only to find himself kindly, but pointedly, told that everything was under control and that he and his mother should just sit back and relax.

Many people stopped by, though only a handful actually stayed. No one asked anything of the Chief that day, rather they seemed intent on simply stopping by to say hello. Many stories of Stoick were shared, and even more toasts were offered in his memory. The 'original' dragon riders of Berk all remained in the great hall with their chief, along with Gobber and Valka. The two older vikings chatted with the others, though as the hours wound on, they wound up claiming one corner of the table to themselves where they spoke to one another in soft tones. The occasional burst of laughter was heard from them, though long stretches of somber silence were common as well.

Eret stopped by with skullcrusher to say hello and offer his condolences in the form of yet more mead. It wasn't as good as the Jorgenson brew, but considering that bottle had long since run out, the addition was welcomed.

The former trapper had quickly become a part of their tight knit group in the wake of Berk's near destruction, but it was clear that this was one gathering he did not feel comfortable intruding on for very long. After all, he had barely known Stoick before the chief had met his untimely end, so the idea of shoehorning his way into this memorial party felt wrong to him.

Before he could leave, though, Hiccup caught him and said, "Thanks, Eret. It means a lot..." the young chief's words trailed off, and all he could really do was gesture vaguely. He didn't just mean stopping by to say hello; rather, for all he had contributed since he had joined their tribe. Feeling tipsier than he normally allowed himself to get (thanks in part to Eret's mead), the man just couldn't quite find the words he needed to communicate the sentiment.

Eret seemed to catch his drift, though, and smiled at the other man before clapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Don't mention it. You've all..." and now it was the former hunter's turn to be at a loss for words as he looked around the room at the gathered Hooligan tribe. Luckily, he rallied better than his chief had, and he continued, "You've all been good to me. I appreciate it more than you can ever know. Berk is home now, thanks to you and your riders. Skullcrusher too, of course."

Hiccup watched the fond smile that crossed the other man's face as he glanced over at the dragon he had inherited from Stoick after his death. He had done everything he could to care for the creature, and had come to have a bond with him just as deep as the one Stoick once had with the Rumblehorn. "Don't say 'your riders' like you're not one of them, Eret son of Eret," Hiccup said, tone light as he ineffectually pushed at one of the man's thick shoulders.

Eret just chuckled and pushed Hiccup back, making the chief have do a quick-step to keep his already faltering balance. "I'll see you tomorrow, Chief," the ex-trapper said with a smirk and a slight bow before heading back out into the cold.

A light snort of amusement escaped Hiccup as he watched Eret go. Yes, Eret truly had found his place there amongst the riders. He fit in so well, in fact, that the chief sometimes found himself forgetting what their group dynamic had been like before he'd come into their lives. It was certainly nice to have another level head in the group to help balance out Ruff and Tuff's particular brand of insanity, useful though it might sometimes be.

A chill breeze across the back of his neck drew Hiccup from his reverie in time to see Heather slipping out one of the side doors. The chief glanced back at their collected group and saw that not even Astrid had noticed the dark haired young woman sneak away. Frowning thoughtfully to himself, the rider was at the door and pushing his way through before he realized what he was doing. The sharp shock of the winter cold on his skin rid him of some of the more soporific effects of Eret's mead, and made him shiver.

"Heather?" he called as he searched the open area he had stepped into.

The great hall was built into a large spire of stone at the North side of Berk's main island, and was easily its most fortified location. There was one main entrance that most people came and went through, though there were a few side exits as well that led along the cliffs. Only one of them actually turned into a path around to the front of the island, though. The others lead to caves used for long term storage or shelter in case of attack or particularly dire weather.

This exit in particular opened onto a section of cliff on the lee of the island, leaving the snow here knee deep and relatively undisturbed by the torrential winds that howled across the village. From there they could only see a small section of the village; mostly all there was to see was vast, open ocean. For the moment, the chief paid little attention to the view and focused more on following the footprints Heather had left behind. They continued around the curve of the cliff until coming to a stop at the broad open area before a sealed storage cave.

A bench had been carved into the wall of the cliff there, and on it sat Heather. When she looked up to see her chief standing there with a frown of concern on his face, the woman wiped hurriedly at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt.

"H-Hiccup!" she said. "What are...what are you doing out here? You'll freeze, dressed like that," she said, gesturing to his lack of cloak or coat.

The chief waved off her concern, and instead, waded through the snow to sit beside her on the bench. "Oh don't worry about me. Between the mead and the cliff I'm fine," he reassured her. He did feel the cold, though only in a distant sort of way that could be dangerous for unwary, inebriated vikings. He knew more than a few people who had lost fingers and toes to this kind of bravado, so he promised himself he'd go in soon.

A moment of silence passed between the pair as they settled in and stared out across the sea while the chief pointedly pretended not to notice his friend's tear-reddened eyes. There had been a time, years before, when Hiccup had suspected Heather was his illegitimate half-sister, and though that had not turned out to be the case, he rather thought his affection for his fellow rider to be that of a sincerely brotherly nature. Especially since the lost of her actual brother three years ago…

A wave of realization hit him, and Hiccup felt like the archipelago's biggest fool. Of course Heather wasn't outside crying in the snow because it was the anniversary of Stoick's death. She was outside crying in the snow because the anniversary of _Dagur's_ death had been two weeks before, and today's memorial had likely brought the pain back to the surface, as sharp and clear as ever. She'd lost her own parents too, of course, but that had been years before, and the loss of a brother that she had known for such a small window of time was a fresher hurt than that old wound.

Heather and Dagur's relationship had been a strange one. Full of deception and fighting up until the very end, though Hiccup knew they had cared for one another in their own way. Dagur had loved Heather, had sacrificed himself rather than let Hiccup's own ill-thought plans put her in danger...and Heather had loved him too, in the only twisty sort of way one could a mad man.

Hiccup opened his mouth to speak, but Heather beat him to it. "I didn't say as much earlier, Hiccup, but I'm sorry for your loss. Valka's too," the dark haired young woman murmured as she turned her pale green gaze to meet his. She pushed a few stray strands of hair back from her face before adding, "He really was a great chief. I know he'd-"

The sharp pang in the man's heart made him lift a hand to cut her off. "Please," he began, and only felt worse when Heather flinched.

"I'm sorry," she said and bit her lip. "I'm sure that's the last thing you want to hear right now. People have been saying it all day, and I'm sure it just seems like empty words when all you really want is your father back."

"No, I just-" Hiccup began, and ran a hand restlessly through his own wild hair. Over the last two years, it had grown to a point that he could pull it back in a short braid at the base of his head, though plenty of it still fell free across his brow and along his jaw. "I wanted to apologize to you," he continued, throat tightening and forcing him to clear it awkwardly.

Confused, Heather looked at him for a moment before asking, "Apologize? What for?"

"For-" Hiccup took a breath to steady himself, and sorely wished that he wasn't doing this while inebriated. The world spun a little around him, though the chief wasn't entirely sure it was just from the mead. "For Dagur," he finally managed, and pushed quickly on in the face of her outright shock. "If it weren't for me, he never would have..." Hiccup's words died on his lips, and the man was surprised when tears began to roll down his cheeks. "Thor's beard," he muttered to himself, embarrassed by the unexpected show of emotion.

Perhaps even more unexpected, though, was the hug Heather gave him next.

"Chief, you're kind of an idiot," she said, her own voice hoarse with emotion as she sniffed back tears.

Hiccup was still for a moment, taken off guard by her embrace. When he'd recovered, though, he returned it, and held her close. "Yeah, so people keep telling me," he admitted with a watery chuckle.

"What happened to Dagur...that wasn't your fault," Heather insisted, sniffling in earnest now, and Hiccup could feel her tears beginning to soak through the wool of his green tunic. "H-He made his choice. For all of our sakes. You weren't the only one who was blind to what he was telling us," she said, voice cracking before a little sob escaped her.

Aching for her loss and his own part in it, Hiccup held Heather all the tighter to him as they tried and failed to hold back their tears.

Though he'd never admitted as much to anyone until now, he'd always blamed himself for Dagur's death. People knew that he blamed himself for Stoick's; they expected it, considering the way his father had thrown himself between the alpha controlled Toothless and his son, taking the blast that would have killed Hiccup. People _expected_ you to blame yourself for that kind of death. They didn't expect you to shoulder the weight of a madman's life as well, not when he'd spent so long trying to kill you and the people you cared for.

Hiccup did, though. He'd seen the change Dagur had forced himself through for Heather's sake, and come to believe it with time. So much so that he'd trained him as a dragonrider. Sure, it had only been for a day, but the man had shown such an aptitude for it that even if Dagur hadn't saved he and Toothless' lives when they'd been stranded on the island together, Hiccup likely would have still felt a pang for the loss of such a promising rider.

Eventually, when they'd both gotten themselves under control again, Heather gently extricated herself from Hiccup's arms, and he let her go. Each wiped furtively at their faces with every scrap of dry sleeve available, and the woman let out a strangled sort of laugh when she saw the damp mess she'd left his shoulder. "Sorry about that," she said and patted futilely at the wet fabric with her hand in an attempt to dry it.

The chief glanced down at the offending spot and shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Toothless leaves worse all the time," he mused and finally managed a smile, which seemed to please Heather.

"Well, that's one nice thing about Windshear," the woman said as she scooped up some snow and pressed it to her tear swollen eyes to help lessen the puffiness. "She really doesn't lick much."

"Oh yeah, just keep right on bragging," Hiccup quipped lightly as he followed her example.

The pair of riders sat quietly for a time, both feeling emotionally exhausted, but more at ease than either had for some time. Eventually, Heather spoke again. "It's weird but...I really miss him," she admitted quietly with a sigh. "He was unstable, obsessive, and temperamental...but I know he cared about me."

Hiccup nodded thoughtfully, a tired smile pulling at his lips as he dropped his head back against the cliff wall and watched the snow fall. "Yeah, he was...definitely all those things," he reminisced. "But right there at the end...I really feel like he was trying to change." He glanced sideways at the woman next to him, and added, "For you."

Heather's bottom lip trembled treacherously, so she forced herself to take a deep breath to get herself under control before she replied. "I think you're right," she agreed. She surprised him, though, when she continued, "But he was doing it for you too, you know."

"Me?" Hiccup asked, disbelief coloring his tone. "What do you mean?"

The female rider chuckled and fiddled absently with the end of her braid. "He always _was_ obsessed with you, Hiccup," Heather mused. "I won't lie, at one point, I thought maybe he was in love with you and it was just coming out as a weird form of aggression because he didn't know what to do with how he felt."

Hiccup made a strangled sort of noise, completely taken aback by the idea. "What? No way! There's no way Dagur felt that way about me," he insisted, though his tone faltered, and he began to doubt.

Heather hummed thoughtfully and dropped her braid to look at him cannily. "I think...there was a possibility that his feelings could have swung that way, given the opportunity." Hiccup tried to interject again, but before he could, she continued, "But at the end of it all...I think he just really admired you, Hiccup."

Unsure how to respond to this, the chief shut his mouth so sharply that his teeth clicked, making Heather smile a little.

"Even if it infuriated him, he was always going on about how clever you were. At the beginning I think that made him hate you, but at the end...at the end I think his admiration for you is at least partially responsible for bringing him around," the woman said, voice low and smile soft.

Hiccup swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He really needed to not drink, he thought; apparently it turned him into an emotional mess. Maybe there had been something in that mead Eret brought them. The young chief opened his mouth to say something, but found himself unable to do so, uncertain how to even voice what he was thinking. He didn't know how to express the regret at her brother's loss; not just for her sake, but his as well. They might have been friends. Might have become something _actually_ resembling the brother Dagur had so often called him, given the time.

"We should go inside. Looks like the wind is changing," Heather said, voice gentle as she reached out and placed a hand on Hiccup's.

"Yeah," the man replied as he pushed himself to his feet and took a breath to collect himself before offering Heather a hand up. Together, they waded through the snow, back into the warmth of the great hall and the company of their friends.

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 **AN:** Thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review if you enjoyed! Back to more action in Scotland next week, and the Macintoshes make their debut!


	9. One of Us

**AN:** Thanks to all of you that left reviews last chapter, they make me so happy! I love hearing that you're not only enjoying, but _what_ you're enjoying specifically! It's always very enlightening, so please continue to do so ;D

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Nine: One of Us

The second night of the siege of Dunbroch was easier than the first, though not by much. Their only saving grace was Dagur's efforts to organize the fighters of the castle and the royal family's rallying of their people to reinforce their home against the coming aerial invasion.

Viggo had promised that the dragons would return at sundown, leaving them a few precious hours to alternate between preparing and getting some much needed sleep. Dagur and Fergus had almost insisted that they work through the day, fearful as they were that they wouldn't be ready in time. Elinor, however, pointed out that it'd all be for naught if the people were too exhausted to fight come sundown. The queen's reasoning won out in the end, and the people were given time to rest in shifts, though Merida had been forced to practically drag Dagur and her father off the wall by the ear when their turn came.

As they stood on the wall and watched the sun sink inevitably towards the horizon, Merida cast her gaze back down to the courtyard below. Every bucket, trough, and pot had been gathered, filled with water, and placed strategically around the castle, ready to put out any errant flames should the dragons breach their defenses. Besides that, and barricading every entrance or window not immediately needed, there wasn't a lot of practical preparation they had been able to do. The great hall was still serving as the main infirmary, which the resident healer, Selma, had organized according to her needs. No one would be sleeping that night, and everyone had been assigned a duty, whether it be manning the walls, standing on firewatch, or any number of other tasks potentially vital to their survival.

Everyone, including the princess, was on edge as the sky slowly darkened. Beside her, Fergus shifted restlessly, hand absently tightening on the hilt of his sword. "How long before the Macintosh reinforcements arrive?" she asked him.

The king glance down at his daughter, and then back out to the horizon once more before answering. "If we're lucky, they'll be here tomorrow, assuming they took the beacon seriously and rode hard."

"If they didn't, we might be in trouble," Dagur said as he joined them. Merida looked at him and immediately noticed that, unlike last night when he'd been caught unprepared, her friend was now armed to the teeth.

The viking carried a spear in one hand, his sword rested in its sheath on his left hip, and a single bladed axe hung from his belt over his right. At first the princess thought he must have raided the guard's barracks for armor as well, until she realized that none of it quite matched the designs that the castle men normally wore. His helmet bore no horns, but was of sturdy build; the sort that covered the entire head, leaving only a y shaped opening for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Under it, three streaks of blue dyed the fair skin around his left eye, a striking approximation of claw marks. His chest armor was heavy tooled leather with chainmail sleeves that reached from shoulder to mid-forearm where it met heavy leather gauntlets. Both of Dagur's shoulders bore metal pauldrons, and his shins were protected by matching grieves.

When he noticed her staring at him, her friend smirked a little. Merida turned to her father and tugged on his sleeve as she pointed at the fully armored Viking and said, "If you were wonderin' what I wanted for my birthday..."

Fergus glanced over at Dagur and barked out a laugh. "Lass, convince your mother and I'll have the finest armor in all the land made for you." The king gave the viking a closer look in the light of the setting sun, then, and asked, "Where _did_ you come by such fine looking armor, lad?"

Dagur shrugged, but looked a little smug when he admitted, "Made it myself in my spare time."

"No you didn't!" Merida exclaimed and shoved her friend. She would have hit him, if not for all the armor.

The viking snorted and pushed her back, "Yes, _I did,_ " he retorted. "It's a common enough skill back home," he said nonchalantly as he leaned idly against his spear. "I'm not much good at the delicate stuff," he admitted, fluttering his fingers, "But Hiccup had a downright gift for it. Heather made her own blade and armor from Razorwhip scales. Pretty sure she mentioned that Astrid made her own axe too..."

"Yeah, alright I get it, your viking girls are infinitely more talented than us Scots," Merida grumbled, throwing her hands expressively in the air as a pang of jealously lanced through her. Her mother was all about her learning the ins and outs of the castle and what their blacksmith _needed_ to do his work, but actually letting her smith something herself? Yeah right.

Dagur gave her the up and down, and judging by the canny expression of his dark green eyes, knew precisely what she was thinking. "You're strong. You could do it too, given a few lessons," he said casually, earning himself a rueful, but still appreciative smile from the princess. Turning his attention back to the King, who was watching them both with a look of amusement on his craggy face, Dagur asked, "What are the odds that the Macintoshes don't ride hard to Dunbroch's aide?"

Fergus looked thoughtful for a moment as he stroked his impressive mustache. "Slim, I'd say. We've not lit it since the Vikings were still raiding. To light it now after all these years...I'm sure they'd take it seriously." His expression contorted into something fierce as he added in a vehement tone, "They'd _better_ if they don't want me haunting their feckless arses from now unto the twelfth generation!"

Dagur nodded, satisfied with the answer, though Merida wondered a little at his doubting their allies. Fergus was king of the four clans, of _course_ they would come to their aid as quickly as they could when the beacon was lit. Dunbroch would do the same for any of them, after all. "Good. We'll need them, at this rate. After last night, we're down almost a quarter of the able bodied men thanks to injuries," he said grimly.

He and the king shared a look, and then Fergus turned to Merida and said "Nearly time now, darlin'. Best get yourself down below with your mother and the boys. We'll be sending you plenty of work tonight, no doubt."

Merida heaved a sigh. She'd known it was too much to hope her father might actually let her fight, but she couldn't help being disappointed at the same time.

Seeing this, Fergus clapped his hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. "You're doin' good work in there, darlin'. Without you and Selma we'd have lost a lot more of our people. I _need_ you to keep it up, for all of us, alright? Gods know it could be me or the lad in there next," he said, jerking a thumb at Dagur, who nodded.

"I know, I know," she said with a thin smile. Honestly, the healing was far harder work for her than being out on the wall. She might be constantly afraid for her life during a fight, but it was better than the emotional fatigue that came from dealing with screaming, agonized men as she held them down and tried to put them back together again. Worse yet was when she failed and she had to watch the light slip from their eyes as death claimed them. "Try _not_ to come visit me though, yeah?" she asked them. The princess fixed them with a teasing smile, but both men could see the genuine worry in her expressive blue eyes.

"I'll see you at dawn," Dagur promised, then pulled her in for a hug, careful not to crush her against his armor.

"Tell your mother I'll see her then, too," Fergus said, and dropped a kiss on his daughter's head.

Merida nodded, and hurried off before her control broke. As night fell, Merida waited with Selma, medical supplies at the ready as they tended to the lingering wounded. Both flinched when the shriek of dragons echoed over the castle, reaching them even through stone wall and heavy wooden doors.

* * *

Though bloody and full of terror for every human involved, the second night passed more quickly that the first, and with fewer casualties. Selma, Merida, and all the others drafted to assist them were kept busy treating the wounded as the hours wore on. Many were sent directly back out into the fight while others were kept in the cots the queen had ordered brought into the great hall for the healers' use. Merida herself led more than one expedition out to the courtyard to help fetch in wounded warriors, providing cover with her bow to allow her people a window of opportunity to work in.

To the princess' great relief, neither Dagur nor Fergus appeared in the great hall to be treated, though some small part of her worried that one or both of them had been pronounced dead by the men and simply not brought in for treatment at all. Merida simply had to tell herself that there was no way such important information would be kept from her or her mother. After all, if either man fell, it would be a major blow to the castle's defenses. Her father, because he was king, and Dagur, because the viking had essentially taken over for the captain of the castle guard. The man was normally more than capable, but considering Dagur's experience with fighting dragons, he had readily handed over temporary command to the younger man.

At dawn, the dragons disappeared just as quickly as they had the night before. This time, like the last, they carried off their dead, something that continued to mystify everyone, Dagur included.

When the skies were clear, Merida ran for the walls, and practically threw herself at her father, who grunted at the impact. To her surprise, Elinor followed suit a moment later, making the princess think her mother must have broken into a very un-queenly run to get there so quickly.

"Still in one piece, I promise," the king said with a warm chuckle as he embraced his wife and daughter. The laugh turned into a yelp as three small bodies impacted the backs of his legs, and nearly sent the lot of them toppling over backwards. "Boys!" he shouted, and really would have fallen, had not Dagur reached out and stabilized the larger man.

Giggling, Merida disentangled herself from her family, and turned to give Dagur the once over while her brothers swarmed over their father. Realizing what she was doing, the viking rolled his eyes at the princess, but gave her a turn so she could see he was unharmed. Apparently his armor had done its job. Other than a few cuts here and there, Dagur was uninjured, though clearly tired.

"I guess all your hard work paid off, huh?" she asked as she plucked at one of her friend's chainmail sleeves. The movement dislodged a dragon fang the size of her thumb that had only partially penetrated the mail before becoming stuck and eventually torn out by the root from its owner's mouth.

Dagur caught the offending tooth and looked at it. "Hobblegrunt, I think," he said, then offered the fang to Merida, who accepted it, only grimacing a little when she had to pick an errant scrap of gum off the root. "Tried to take my arm off," the viking recalled with a snort, as though this were simply amusing and not the stuff of most men's nightmares.

Vikings really were a breed apart.

"He's back," Fergus suddenly said, and Merida didn't need to ask who 'he' was, thanks to the tone of utter disgust in the king's voice.

Once again, Viggo and his men had appeared, just out of bow range, below the wall. Before the man could even speak, though, Fergus shouted, "Don't bother, you slimy son of a boobrie, you'll not drive us out of the walls no matter how many dragons you throw at us!"

The triplets seemed to agree with their father's sentiment, as, like Dagur the day before, they leaped up onto the embrasure and shook their tiny fists at their attackers. No doubt they would have devolved into cruder displays if Elinor had not quickly fetched them down.

Viggo put his hands up, motioning for calm. The gesture only infuriated Fergus further, but Elinor's steadying hand on his forearm kept him from breaking into a stream of profanity again. "My respects, Bear King, for fighting off my forces this long," the viking said with a smile full of false admiration. "Deny me again here today, though, and you'll find my third advance will not be so easily turned away by your meager arms."

Ready to hurl insults of her own at what she perceived as a bluff, Merida glanced sidelong at Dagur. To her surprise and concern, her friend didn't seem to be of the same mind. Rather, he was frowning in concern as his hand gripped convulsively at the hilt of his sword. He didn't meet her eyes as Fergus and Viggo traded a few more insults before the invader turned and headed back into the treeline with the same promise of returning the next dawn that he had offered the day before.

"Dagur?" Elinor asked, surprising the man from his thoughts.

"Yes, your majesty?" he asked as he straightened a little and met her canny gaze.

The queen's brow furrowed thoughtfully as she glanced around at her family, and then back to the viking who had proved so instrumental in saving all their lives. "How serious is Viggo Grimborn's threat that his next attack will be worse than those previous?"

For a moment, Dagur froze, taken aback that the queen had actually asked for his input on the matter. At Merida's expression of encouragement, though, he relaxed a little and said, "It's hard to say, but I wouldn't discount it. In my experience with him, Viggo _always_ has a plan b, c, _and_ d waiting in the wings when things don't quite go his way."

Elinor nodded, and Fergus scowled at this news. "So, what?" the king asked, "You think he has more dragons to throw at us? We've held them off this long, and if the clans rally, they won't stand a chance," he said, grinning malevolently at the thought.

Dagur shook his head, "It might not be sheer numbers we're talking about here," he pointed out. "The dragons we've seen so far...they're common back home. Like..." he gestured vaguely for a moment before coming on a suitable metaphor. "Like foot soldiers. Your majesty, there's dragons out there called Timberjacks that can level a forest with their wings. Changewings can literally turn invisible. Scauldrons spit boiling water, and Quakens cause earthquakes..."

Merida lowered her eyes to the ground, arms folded over her chest and hands gripping tightly at her gown sleeves as her friend ticked off any number of nightmarish beasts that could potentially end them all on one hand. She knew about them all, of course. Many were the times she and her brothers had made the viking describe every dragon he had ever seen or heard of. Still, they'd never truly _believed_ him until yesterday, and now the true horror of some of those creatures began to sink in.

Apparently it was for her parents as well, as they both looked noticeably paler and more somber than before Elinor had asked just how bad the situation really was.

Realizing the impact his words had had on the royal family, Dagur grimaced internally, and tried to put on an optimistic face as he said "All those dragons are notoriously difficult to control though! So, you know, he might be bluffing just to goad you into surrendering out of fear."

Despite his efforts, no one seemed particularly comforted or convinced. In the end, it was Fergus that dragged them all out of their gloom. "Well, whatever he tries to throw at us, It won't work," he said confidently, fists on his hips as he turned his attention to the rising sun. "If all goes accordingly, the Macintosh's should be here later today, and then that Grimborn bastard will have a real fight on his hands."

Her father's feral smile boosted Merida's spirits in a way that little else could in the face of such hardship, and as she looked around at her family, it was apparent she wasn't the only one affected. Even Dagur was grinning in a lopsided sort of way.

Fergus beamed around at his family and said "Alright then, we'll do the same shifts as yesterday, spread the word," he instructed them. To Dagur, he said, "Add a few extra lookouts to the South wall. I want to know as soon as Clan Macintosh comes into view."

"Yes sir," the viking said with a salute, then headed off to do just that. On his way, he winked at Merida, at which she snorted and waved him away before leaving to attend to her own duties.

* * *

Merida was dragged from a deep slumber sometime after noon by the blare of trumpets announcing the arrival of friendly forces.

The princess rolled out of her four-poster bed before her eyes could even focus properly, and scrambled back into her gown. Judging by the angle of the sun pouring in through her bedroom, window, she had gotten maybe four hours of sleep. Normally that was nowhere near enough in her book, but the arrival of the Macintosh's was enough to get her moving again with relatively little complaint from her body.

She made for the walls first, and from there she could see the distant dust cloud that announced the arrival of a large group on horseback. Already she could see three of Dunbroch's men bearing the clan standard riding out to meet them. Realizing that she had yet to spy Dagur, the princess headed for the barracks and barged right in. Her sudden arrival startled a few of the men still within on their rest period.

"Where's Dagur," she demanded of a guard who was still halfway through wrapping his kilt, a slightly panicked expression on his face. He pointed towards the back, and Merida nodded her gratitude, then marched past.

She found Dagur sprawled on a top bunk at the end of a row, cocooned in blankets and looking dead to the world. For a moment, Merida actually hesitated, thinking that it might be better to let him sleep. She had no doubt that he'd been in bed for even less time than she, and probably would have woken before her too, had the afternoon gone as planned. Still, the princess knew her friend would want to be there when the Macintoshes arrived.

Making up her mind, Merida poked her friend in the back and hissed, "Dagur. Dagur, wake up!" in a low tone so as not to wake the other men who still slumbered in the bunks around them.

The viking stirred a little, then sighed heavily, and reached for something out of sight. "I swear to Thor, if the castle is not literally burning down around our ears right now, I _will_ plant this axe in your forehead."

Something between a huff and a laugh escaped the woman, and she said, "Well now, is _that_ any way to address your princess? Give you command of a few men and suddenly you think you'd hung the moon, Dagur!"

Her friend stilled, then rolled over and blinked at Merida blearily. To her surprise (or perhaps not, if she thought about it), Dagur actually did have an axe in his hand, making her pity anyone else who might have to wake the viking up unexpectedly.

"Princess?" he asked, and rubbed fitfully at his eyes, clearly disoriented by the deep sleep he had been in until a moment before. "What time is it?" he asked sharply, going rigid almost immediately as he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Just a little after noon," she reassured him, making him relax a little and sag back against his pillow, relieved.

"Your mom know you're in here?" he joked as he set aside his axe and ran one hand through his sleep mussed hair.

Merida just rolled her eyes and tugged impatiently at his blankets. "Not important right now. The Macintoshes will be here any moment, though, so best get your pants on."

Dagur sat bolt upright, and only just avoided knocking his head against the low ceiling. "What?" he asked, startled. "Shit, move," Dagur insisted and waved her out of the way. As she sidestepped, he rolled off the top bunk and landed on bare feet. Contrary to her assertions, the viking was already wearing pants, though he had discarded his shirt before rolling into bed. He sat on the bottom bunk and shoved his feet into his boots while Merida stood back and watched.

Dagur was as heavily muscled as she remembered him being back when she'd first nursed him after he'd washed up on Dunbroch's shore. Perhaps more so after years of heavy training and regular meals. She remembered most of the scars that laced his pale skin, though a few of them were new, no doubt picked up in his travels around her father's kingdom. The worst of them had still been fresh wounds she'd had to stitch shut when he'd arrived in Scotland. A nasty brand in the shape of a sword surrounded by a rectangle and backed by flames had been burned in the flesh over his left shoulder blade. Over that were a series of deep slashes that crossed his back and shoulders, as though he had been whipped mercilessly after receiving the brand. Such scars hardly put off girls in that part of the world, though. Still, while Merida admired her friend's physique, he wasn't quite her type, though she knew he drove more than a few of the castle maids wild.

Not that he ever paid them any mind.

"If you're done getting an eyeful, could you grab my shirt?" Dagur asked archly as he strapped on his grieves.

Merida only scoffed at his comment, though did as she was asked and fetched his green linen shirt from the foot of his bed. "There you go flattering yourself again," she drawled and threw the shirt at him, catching him right in the face.

"Don't act like you're not impressed by all this," Dagur teased as he lifted his arms and flexed before breaking into a laugh, knowing full well that the princess had no interest in him in that way, which suited him just fine.

She wasn't his type anyways.

The princess rolled her eyes and waved the man off, then started back towards the door. "Well, _I'm_ going to go meet Chief Macintosh. You can join me, if you like, assuming you can drag yourself away from the mirror."

Dagur objected, but Merida ignored him. She did, however, wait for him outside the barracks as he hurriedly dragged on his tunic, gauntlets, and leather cuirass. He was still strapping on his sword belt as he stepped out the door, and together they made their way to the gate, arriving just in time to watch the Macintosh war party ride across the drawbridge. Realizing that she was the first royal to arrive, the princess stepped up to greet the visiting chief, only to be brought up short when she realized that it wasn't Lord Macintosh on the fine white stallion that lead the war party, but his son.

"Young Macintosh," she said, startled as she stepped up beside his fidgety horse and expertly caught its reigns. She pulled the stallion's head down to her level and ran a soothing hand over its cheek and velvety nose. "We were expecting-" she began, then stopped herself. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me," the princess said, doing her best to remember all the things her mother had taught her since the man before her had come seeking her hand years before. "Welcome to castle Dunbroch, you are most welcome."

"You were expecting my father," the young lord said plainly as he swung down off his mount and accepted the reigns back for the princess. He looked around, then and said, "And _we_ were expecting a siege."

"There _has_ been a siege. What are you, blind?" Dagur drawled from where he stood a little behind Merida, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword while the other waved to the general chaos still being cleaned up in the wake of the previous night's dragon attack. The princess glanced back at him, a little taken aback by his disagreeable tone. Her normally amicable friend was all but sneering at Young Macintosh, and when she looked back at their guest, he had tensed noticeably; clearly irritated at the sight of the viking.

"Funny, I didn't notice any armies on my ride in. Maybe I missed them," the lord retorted sharply as he glared down his long nose at Dagur. "What do you think, lads? Any suspicious lurking armies about?"

The small group of men that had accompanied young Macintosh inside the castle walls while the rest of his force remained outside laughed raucously. She glanced sidelong at Dagur, half expecting her friend to lose his cool at the jeering.

He didn't though, simply picked his teeth absently as he waited for the noise to die down. "Doesn't have to be an army for their to be a siege," was all he replied. The intentional crypticism of the comment only seemed to annoy the lord, though, which had no doubt been the viking's goal.

Before the argument could continue further, Merida quickly interjected. "Please, my Lord Macintosh, come into the great hall and my father will explain everything," the princess said, then motioned for a few of the servants to come over and see to the man's horse, and those of his people.

Macintosh managed to drag his eyes Dagur, who was smirking in the most irritating fashion possible now, and looked down at the redheaded young woman next to him. "Alright, then. Maybe that's best," he admitted, and as an afterthought, offered her his arm, which she accepted as she knew courtesy demanded.

She'd only seen the young lord a handful of times since the Mor'du debacle years before, but he had matured a little since then. He was still hot tempered, but he was less inclined to tantrums than when she had first met him, which was an improvement she certainly appreciated. He had even let her convince him to teach her a few new tricks with a sword she hadn't known before, which inclined him at least a little towards her favor. He was still too vain for her tastes, though, and apparently that was true for Dagur as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her friend glaring at the back of the lord's head as he followed them into the great hall.

The great hall was still primarily serving as a ward for the wounded, which brought Macintosh up short at the door.

"Oh my, where did all these injured people come from?" Dagur quipped behind them, tone so sugary sweet and innocent that Merida had to repress the urge to turn around and punch him. "It's like there was some sort of awful battle! Did you know about this, princess?"

Merida looked back over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes in warning at him, but her friend just smiled at her, then watched the lord at her side grit his teeth and clench his free hand into a fist. The princess mouthed ' _quit being an ass_ ' at Dagur, but the man pretended not to notice.

"Merida," Elinor called from the balcony, drawing all of their attention upward. "And young Lord Macintosh. It is a pleasure to see you," the queen said with a beneficent smile that could ease even the most ruffled of feathers, much to Dagur's apparent disappointment. Merida had no idea why the viking was working so hard to wind Macintosh up, but he was in for a grilling later. "Please, this way. We've food and drinks waiting for you and your men while we discuss our recent misfortunes."

"You have my deepest appreciation," the lord said with a bow.

Before he could lead Merida up the stairs, though, Elinor gestured to her daughter and said "Merida, spell Selma for a time so she can rest before this evening."

The princess had never been happier to have to work with the injured. Anything to keep her out of that meeting room right now. To her fellow noble, she smiled pleasantly and said "Well, I leave you in my mother's capable hands, then, my Lord."

"Your highness," he said, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Behind Macintosh's back where only Merida could see him, Dagur made an exaggerated gagging motion. Once the lord and his men had ascended the curving stairs and followed her mother into one of the meeting rooms above, the princess reeled around sharply and punched Dagur in the shoulder as hard as she could.

"Ow! Hey!" he yelped, taken off guard by the sudden attack. "What?!"

"Don't 'what' me, you numpty! What is wrong with you?!" she demanded furiously in a low tone so as not to disturb the wounded warriors around them. She could see him about to feign ignorance, but before he could get a word out, she lifted her hand in implicit threat to strike him again.

Dagur threw up his hands to ward off the blow, and said, "Alright! He just pisses me off, is all." The princess gave him a look that clearly said his answer wasn't enough, so the viking heaved a sigh and continued, "He's just so _full_ of himself!"

"Well he is a lord," Merida scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"And you're a princess!" Dagur objected, "You're not full of yourself." he paused, then added, "Well, you know, _most_ of the time." Merida threatened him with her fist again, but he kept talking to distract her. "He's got a higher opinion of himself than he has a right to, and it pisses me off," the viking grumbled, expression sour. "Your father's a great man. Hell, Chief Macintosh is a great man. That... _numpty-_ " Merida had to muffle a giggle at his use of the word. It wasn't one she'd heard him say aloud before. "-Is just some jumped up _boy_ playing at being a warrior."

The young woman watched her friend for a moment, and wondered just what it was young Macintosh had done to get under the viking's skin the way he had. As far as she knew, it wasn't anything that had happened there at Dunbroch, but then, Dagur had been abroad to visit all the clans over the years.

Giving up on trying to drag some sort of straight answer out of the man, Merida sighed and said, "Just...whatever your problem is, try not to antagonize him _too_ much. We do need his help after all."

Dagur grimaced at her injunction, but seeing the uncompromising set of her face, he said, "Fine. I'll be nice as long as as he doesn't try to start anything."

The princess rolled her eyes, but decided it was better than nothing, and probably as good as she was going to get out of him. "Good. Now give me a hand with some of these patients while I change their bandages."

* * *

Suppertime found Dagur and Merida both out on the wall wolfing down portions of cold meat and cheese on thick slices of fresh bread. They were watching Young Macintosh and Fergus speaking as they strode along the top of the outer wall. They paused here and there and running hands over the damage the dragons had left in their wake. Deep gouge marks in stone, and melted section of wall were prime examples.

Dagur finished his meal by cramming the last bit in his already full mouth, then held out his hand and said "Hey, let me see that tooth I gave you earlier."

Merida grimaced at the spray of crumbs and said "Close your gob, would you?", though did as she was asked and reached into her belt pouch to fetch out the fang, then pressed it into his waiting hand.

The viking made a face at her, but finished chewing and swallowed as he accepted the tooth, then pulled a length of leather cord from his pocket. As the princess watched, Dagur wrapped the bit of cord around the base of the tooth with a practiced hand, then tied it off and handed the lot back over to her. "Happy birthday," he said with a broad smile.

"But it's not my birthday," she said with a chuckle as she accepted the gift all the same. Merida took a moment to admire the neatness of his work, then slipped it on over her head and tugged her voluminous curls through so the pendant rested a few inches below her collarbone.

"Details," Dagur replied with a careless wave of a hand, making his friend laugh again. As she watched, though, his own smile faded and his lips set into a grim line as he caught sight of something over her shoulder.

Frowning a little in concern at his sudden shift in mood, Merida looked behind her and saw their guest approaching. Her father was still some ways back down the wall, talking to the captain of the castle guard in quiet tones.

"You should be careful, Princess," Young Macintosh said as he reached them. "Hang around with feral curs too much and you might catch fleas...or worse."

Dagur immediately bridled, but before he could say anything, Merida braced her fists on her hips and frowned fiercely at the young lord. "Are you implying my father's hounds are wild curs, my lord? I can tell you he would not appreciate the sentiment," she said, deliberately misinterpreting the man's snide comment. "And I," she continued, "do not appreciate the implication that I might have _fleas._ "

"I- no, um-" Macintosh stammered, clearly wrong footed by her reply. "I didn't mean it like that," he finished lamely, knowing when he was beat, pointedly ignoring Dagur's smug look at his discomfort.

"Oh?" Merida replied archly, and let the man hang for a moment before saying, "My misunderstanding, then."

"I don't know, seemed to me like he-" Dagur began, only to be cut off by the princess stomping on his foot, making him jump backwards before he could start another argument.

"So, my parents filled you in on our problem?" Merida asked her fellow noble casually, ignoring Dagur's small noise of irritation at her attack.

"Yeah," Young Macintosh said. "Still pretty hard to believe, though," he added and rubbed the length of his prominent nose absently as his eyes found their way to a nearby chunk of melted slag left behind by a Gronkle the night before.

"For you, maybe," Dagur sniffed derisively. "Some of us already _knew."_

"Yeah, well mad men will believe anything, and sometimes fools get lucky," Macintosh snapped.

"You looking for a fight, pretty boy?!" Dagur demanded lunging forward again until he was toe-to-toe with the other man, teeth bared as they squared up, forcing Merida to jump out of the way lest she be caught in the middle.

"I don't pick fights with _dogs,_ " the lord snarled. He had several inches on Dagur, but the viking had the advantage in sheer muscle mass. "The King's gone soft, taking in a piece of bilge tripe like you!"

"Say it again!" Dagur snapped furiously, green eyes blazing. "Say it again and I'll break your fucking nose a second time you spoiled, mince-brained son of a-"

"Will you two _shut it_!" Merida bellowed over the pair of men as she tried to push them apart.

Neither man seemed to be paying her much mind, though, and while she was able to sway Macintosh a little, budging Dagur's bulk so much as an inch was completely beyond Merida's strength. It didn't help that the young lord had reached out and grabbed the viking by the tunic, face contorted in an expression of pure fury.

"Son of a _what,_ you motherless wyrm?" he demanded. "I am the first born son and heir of clan Macintosh! Touch me again and it'll be your head!"

Dagur laughed in the man's face. "Yeah, that's what you said last time too, Aodhan," he said, and grinned manically as he pulled back, ready to strike in spite Young Macintosh's threat. "Your threats are wearing a little thin!"

Just before Dagur could actually follow through with his attack, though, Fergus appeared at Merida's back and grabbed both men by the scruff of the neck, then threw them bodily apart as though they were no more than ragdolls.

"That's enough," the king boomed, glaring from Dagur to Young Macintosh, and back again. They both lay stunned, but the viking was on his feet a moment later, with the young lord scrambling up only a second after. "Dagur," Fergus snapped at the redhead, making him start guiltily and look to the king, rather than glare longer at Macintosh. "Young Macintosh here is our guest and _ally,_ " the king stated firmly as he jabbed his finger in the other man's direction. "You _will_ treat him as such, or you will leave Dunbroch until you can," he said with a tone of finality that actually made Dagur pale and Merida's stomach twist in horror.

"And _you,_ " the Bear King continued as he rounded on Young Macintosh before he could begin looking too smug at Dagur's chastisement. "Aodhan Macintosh, you are son of a Clan Chief and we don't have time for you to get in a pissing contest with one of my people. And don't you mistake my words, Dagur _is_ one of our people now, and therefore under my protection. If you have a complaint with him, you come to me or the Queen. I'll not have you scrapping like a couple of stablehands when we've got a bunch of scabby, man eating dragons breathing down our necks!"

Fergus' tirade was delivered with such vehemence that Aodhan actually dropped his eyes to the ground and nodded like a meek boy. Merida couldn't blame him, honestly. It was the rare man that would be able to challenge her father when he was truly angry. She would have been impressed herself had she not been distracted by Dagur's use of Young Macintosh's given name. Had she known it was 'Aodhan'? Now that she thought about it, it did ring a distant sort of bell. Right then she decided to pretend that she hadn't completely forgotten the man's first name. Who could blame her, though? Everyone _always_ called him Young Macintosh.

The princess glanced over at Dagur, half expecting him to look a little smug as the tongue lashing Aodhan was receiving. Instead, though, the viking's face was a riot of emotions that he was trying and failing to control. Surprise, happiness, sorrow, and something else all made their appearance on his scarred visage. She realized, then, what her father had said, and how it must have affected the man.

 _Dagur_ _ **is**_ _one of our people…_

Suddenly feeling an intense surge of affection for her dear friend, Merida stepped up alongside him and gently brushed her fingers across his scarred knuckles as his hands dangled limply at his sides. He almost jumped at the contact, and looked at her in surprise. For his sake, she pretended not to notice the wetness that threatened at the corner of his vivid green eyes. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but shut it again just as quickly.

Words, particularly sentimental ones, rarely came easy to Merida, and that continued true now. So instead, she let her hand move from Dagur's knuckles, to his shoulder, then pressed her other over the dragon tooth pendant he had given her and smiled at him in an attempt to communicate her feelings to him.

To her, the man was a brother just as surely as Harris, Hubert, and Hamish were. Dagur was an irreplaceable member of her family, and the fact that he was so surprised by Fergus' willingness to stand up for him made Merida's heart ache.

Her words might have been lacking, but the princess' feelings had apparently communicated themselves to Dagur clear as day, forcing him to close his eyes and grit his teeth in a last ditch attempt to get himself under control. Apparently failing, the viking spun on heel and strode off down the wall at a quick pace. Aodhan noticed and frowned, making Fergus turn to see the problem.

When he realized Dagur had left, the king turned his gaze to Merida, a question in his eyes. She just offered her father a weak, lopsided smile and a subtle wave of her hand to tell him not to worry.

Fergus grunted in recognition, then turned his attention back to Young Macintosh. "Alright. I'll not hear anymore of it. Now, if it pleases your Lordship, we should go down and get your men moved within the castle walls and assign them stations."  
Realizing that this was less of a suggestion and more of a command, Aodhan immediately answered, "Yes, of course, your majesty." As Fergus stumped off, though, he paused just long enough to shoot Merida a questioning look. In return, the princess only arched a brow, at which he sighed. Giving up, the young lord followed after his king.

* * *

 **AN:** So, obviously Young Macintosh wasn't ever given a first name for the movie, so I had to make one up XD It wasn't until I'd already been writing this bit that I realized the show 'Once Upon A Time' had named him 'Ryan' since he shows up in it at some point. I find that name far too common for someone who is, to all intents and purposes, a Scottish prince, so I'm sticking with Aodahn XD

But yeah, make sure to leave a review if you enjoyed! I love hearing what you guys think, and it only takes a moment!


	10. Heavy Words

**AN:** Thanks again to everyone that left a comment last chapter! I _love_ hearing what you guys think of the fic, so please consider taking thirty seconds out of your day to do so! No joke, it legit helps me write more, which is to your benefit, right? XD

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Ten: Heavy Words

Merida went back to the great hall to check on her patients again, and made sure Selma had everything they would need for the upcoming fight that was rapidly approaching. When she stepped outside, the princess realized just how late in the day it was, and felt her stomach twist at the thought of what was to come. She had never been particularly devout, but Merida took a moment to send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening for the safety of her family, and of their people.

Deciding Dagur had likely had enough time to himself by that point, the woman went in search of him. After asking a few of the servants, she found him by the well, hauling up a bucket of water for a waiting servant girl, who beamed in gratitude at him before refusing to allow him to carry it further for her.

The viking watched her go, then turned and came nose-to-nose with Merida. "Mer!" he practically yelped as his pulse skyrocketed in surprise. "Hel's cold realm, don't sneak up on me like that," the man wheezed as he leaned against the stone wall of the well, one hand over his heart.

Merida just grinned and rocked heel-to-toe, the very picture of innocence as she remarked, "Well, _someone_ around here has to keep you on your toes, Dagur."

The man grimaced at her, then pushed off the well and headed towards the stairs up to the wall, princess in tow. To her amusement, Dagur was acting oddly...shy, now that he was over his initial scare. Her gesture and her father's words had apparently affected him deeply, which touched her, but left her longing for their usual easy manner.

Deciding to make an effort at bringing him back around to normal, Merida watched as the man checked over a few quivers already put in place by a parapet on the wall, ready and waiting for the archers that would be stationed there. They were, of course, full to brimming, but the viking seemed intent on checking each and every one, if only as a sort of busy work to distract himself from the turmoil of his emotions and the threat of the coming night.

"So, you broke Young Macintosh's nose?" she asked out of the blue, making him look up at her in surprise at the sudden choice in conversation. "You know," she mused, "I _thought_ there was something a little off about his face when I greeted him earlier. His nose is crooked!"

Dagur's surprise melted into a smug smile as Merida laughed at her own observation. "Yeah, I did," he admitted. "Odin's beard it felt _good_ too!" The viking's gaze drifted upward towards the clouds gathering overhead. "You should've seen the look on that stupid face of his when he landed flat on his arse and had my blade at his throat, blood gushing all down his front..."

Merida rolled her eyes a little as her friend crowed his triumph, but smiled all the same, amused. "So, he challenged you to a match in the ring?" she surprised. "That was stupid of him," the princess added with a snort. Surely Aodhan would have seen Dagur training his father's own men and known he couldn't possibly match the viking. She'd readily admit that the lord was talented with a blade, but there was an experienced brutality to Dagur's style that was hard to match, especially for a relatively unseasoned warrior like Young Macintosh.

"No, he's dumb, but he's not quite _that_ dumb," Dagur ceded with a snort as he moved on to checking over spears. "I challenged him and he had to accept or look the coward," he continued with a wicked smile that told Merida her friend had known exactly what he'd been doing at the time.

Still, it wasn't like Dagur to simply go around challenging people to fights. In fact, she couldn't think of any at all during his time in Dunbroch. She'd seen him training plenty of times, and several of the castle guards had challenged him in the past (an uncommon occurance these days), but she'd never known Dagur to do the challenging.

"Why?" she asked simply, cocking her head to one side as she watched him make busy work.

The viking paused and glanced up to meet her pale blue eyes, then dropped his own again. He always did have a hard time denying Merida anything her heart desired (luckily she wasn't the type to take advantage), but he also disliked bringing up the less pleasant aspects of his life; namely the prejudice he still sometimes came up against due to his being a viking in a kingdom where 'viking' had long been synonymous with 'enemy'. It was all but nonexistent in Dunbroch these days, and only rarely occurred in the strongholds of the other clans. After all, he was there at the behest of not only the chiefs, but the king himself. Still, that didn't mean he didn't catch the occasional look or sly insult.

Aodhan, privileged to be Chief Macintosh's son as he was, got away with a great deal more than most.

Eventually, when Merida's expectant look didn't let up (she knew just how to get him to talk, blast the girl), Dagur heaved a sigh and said, "Pretty much for the same reason I almost broke his nose again today."

"Ah," the princess said, and nodded. She had figured as much, but she'd wanted to actually hear it from her friend before jumping to conclusions. "Well, unfortunately for you, Dad will have a fit if you try to break Aodhan's nose again, no matter how insulting he's being," Merida remarked thoughtfully. Dagur grimaced, but nodded, knowing she was right. "But," she continued, blue eyes bright with mischief, "Dad never said _I_ couldn't break that big beak of his if he tries insulting you again."

Her words startled a laugh out of Dagur, and he finally stopped fiddling with the stacks of arrows and turned to look at her properly. His face had broken out into a wide grin, and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze of affection. "You're a real friend, you know that, Mer?"

"A girl tries," she replied airily, and they both chuckled.

* * *

The day after the anniversary of Stoick's death, everything was business as usual. No one mentioned the unusual lack of work and petitions the day before, and things went on as normal. For his part, Hiccup followed their lead and went about his daily duties with his usual energy and creative solutions.

That night, though, once his mother had retired for the evening, the chief followed Toothless up the stairs to his room and got ready for bed. Unfortunately, even after getting changed and laying under the blankets, waiting for sleep with an almost desperate sense of expectation, he remained stubbornly awake. After an hour of tossing and turning, Hiccup finally gave up and rolled out of bed, then went over to his desk.

It was quite a lot bigger than the one he'd used as a boy, but still just as covered in papers, books, and tools. Once upon a time there had been nothing but technical designs for his next project, but these days there were other documents mixed in. Lists of supplies needed for the black smiths and the healers, reports on the latest catch off the windward side of the island, and a written note from Fishlegs to remind him about the latest dragon rider class graduation coming up next month…

Hiccup considered sitting down to do a bit of drawing to distract himself, but found he didn't quite have the inspiration to come up with something new. He brushed fingertips over the tail mechanism design he'd been trying to improve for Toothless, but had hit a roadblock with. Years before he had designed a tail that would finally grant the Nightfury the ability to fly solo once more as a Snoggletog gift. After an initial scare during which the dragon had disappeared for an unprecedented stretch of time, he'd returned with a gift of his own, and promptly destroyed his rider's hard work.

While Hiccup had appreciated the sentiment at the time, after one too many close calls with Toothless unable to take off without his assistance, the chief and his Nightfury had finally compromised. Hiccup had designed a combination tail mechanism that allowed Toothless to control the false tail fin when he was alone, but disengaged whenever Hiccup rode with him. It worked like a charm, but Hiccup was never the sort to rest on his laurels when it came to his designs. Everything could always be improved. Granted, at this point, he wasn't precisely sure _how,_ beyond a little fine tuning, but he'd figure something out.

The chief turned away from his desk and made his way quietly down the stairs on bare feet so as not to wake his mother. On his way to the fire, Hiccup grabbed up a bottle of mead left over from the day before that he had brought home with him. There wasn't much left, but he decided a little something to warm him wouldn't go amiss.

For a time, the man sat and sipped directly from the bottle, legs stretched out before him as he stared absently into the fire, thoughts of all sorts flitting across the surface of his mind. He didn't focus on any one of them in particularly until he recalled the conversation he'd had with Heather the day before. He'd felt...better, after speaking with her and admitting his sense of guilt over her brother's death. The fact that she'd told him not to blame himself for it did little to assuage the actual guilt, but just admitting it aloud had helped take a little of the weight from his heart.

Nearly finished with the bottle now, and feeling a good deal more relaxed than he had when he'd initially tried to go to bed, Hiccup's gaze drifted across the room. It looked more lived in than it had when it had been just him and Stoick for all those years, mostly thanks to his mother. She harbored guilt of her own over her twenty year absence from his life, and little gestures like making their shared home more comfortable were one way she endeavored to make it up to him. He'd tried to tell her not to take so much on herself, but she'd shut him down and then given him a new blanket on top of that, just to rub it in.

Still, he couldn't complain too much. He actually _liked_ coming home at night, now. Sometimes he missed his place out at the Edge, but having his mother home more than made up for it.

A chest on the other side of the room caught his eye and held it. It was old and polished by both tool and years of hands trailing over its surface. Its presence was like a weight in the room, and as Hiccup sat there staring at it, he felt almost as though it were staring right back. He hadn't opened it for precisely a year, he realized abruptly, his mind slowed to a pleasant buzz by the bottle mead he'd finished off. His whole evening suddenly struck him with a deep sense of deja vu, and Hiccup recalled that he'd done almost the exact same thing this night one year before.

With a sense of inevitability, the chief set aside his bottle and pushed himself to his feet, then crossed the room to the chest. He shifted the few stray boxes and knick-knacks that had been placed on top of it, then crouched, hands resting on the lip of its lid. He hesitated, then took a breath and opened it.

The heavy scent of cedar caught his nose and made Hiccup sneeze, like it always did when he dared look in his father's trunk. Inside lay an agonizingly familiar bear fur cloak, over which the young chief trailed his fingers

 _I was so afraid of becoming my dad; mostly because I thought I never could._

Would Stoick really have been proud of him? Of how Berk had changed? Valka insisted he would have been, so did Gobber and his friends. It was all Hiccup could do, day in and day out to try to live up to his father's memory, as well as his expectations. Hardly a day went by that the young chief didn't regret forgoing his chance to learn more from Stoick first hand while he still could.

Establishing his rule on Berk had been a constant balancing act for Hiccup over the last two years. For longer than he cared to admit, he had nearly killed himself trying to do everything the way he thought his father would have, to take on the world from the same angle no matter how it chafed at his own sensibilities. Stoick had been a great leader, and there had been so many expectations on Hiccup's shoulders after the loss of him, and the thought of doing things any other way had seemed so...wrong.

 _Ho-how do you become someone that great, that brave...that selfless?_

It had taken an intervention from Valka and Gobber to finally turn Hiccup from his self-destructive path. He'd been so set on keeping the people and the council happy that he'd barely noticed the toll it was taking on his heart and mind. From then on, the young chief had done his best to balance the wisdom of his father's memory against what he knew in his own heart and observed in the world around him.

The world was, after all, in a constant state of change.

 _I guess you can only try._

With a soft sigh, Hiccup pulled his father's cloak from within the chest, and let it pool in his lap. Most of what Stoick had been wearing that fateful day had burned with him on his funeral barge, including his helm. Valka, however, had insisted that they keep his axe and cloak. For a time, she had worn it herself, as a form of mourning before eventually putting it away in the chest.

Beneath the familiar fur were other miscellaneous things that had once belonged to his father. A hammer, a pair of old gauntlets, a set of chainmail from when he had been a younger, leaner man...This, Hiccup brushed to one side, then froze, heart dropping down into his stomach as he found something that was _not_ his father's at the bottom of the chest.

It was a leather and steel chest piece with a distinctive skrill emblem in its center, just below the collarbone. Dagur's armor.

 _A chief protects his own_

A soft, pained, groan escaped the man as he recognized the armor. He drew it out of the depths of the chest without thinking and turned it to the light of the fire so he could get a better look at it. How had he forgotten he had this? He'd been so surprised when Toothless had spotted it, washed up on the shore of the island Dagur had died attacking for _his_ sake when Hiccup had been too blind to see he had been leading the riders right into Viggo's trap. They'd gone back once they were sure the remains of the hunter fleet were gone in hopes of finding Dagur, but all Hiccup had come back with was the remains of his armor.

Hiccup let his fingers trail over the heavily scarred leather and the slowly rusting steel accents, his throat tightening convulsively. After finding it, he had always intended to give it to Heather; Dagur had been her brother, after all, so it should be hers by right. Somehow, though, he had never quite found the right moment to give it to her. After his death, she had disappeared for some time, and when she'd finally returned, Heather had seemed set on not mentioning her brother, no matter how delicately (or not) her friends tried to turn the conversation in his direction.

So Hiccup had held onto it for when she was ready. But then a year had passed, and another, and the chest piece had gone from a drawer, to his wardrobe, and then eventually into Stoick's own chest. Valka, he realized, must have thought it was something from her husband's youth, since it obviously never would have fit her son. Years had passed and he'd _forgotten_ about it…

A chief protects his own...yes, he'd done a swell job of that where Dagur was concerned. Whatever the man himself might have thought, or anyone else, for that matter, the Berserker _had_ been one of their own. From the moment Dagur had saved him and Toothless, Hiccup had owed him a life debt, one he had tried to repay by bringing his former enemy in from the cold and teaching him the way of a dragon rider.

And yet he hadn't listened to him, so Dagur had died to save his sister from Hiccup's own idiocy…  
The young chief's hands tightened convulsively on the armor, and he got to his feet, stumbling only a little from mead and lack of bloodflow to his good leg. He set it aside, then folded his father's cloak and returned it to the chest with something akin to reverence before closing the lid. He replaced everything on top of it, then grabbed up the armor again and brought it back to his room where he knew he had a leather repair kit, and some metal polish.

* * *

 **AN:** So the bit about Snoggletog and the tail Hiccup made for Toothless is actually a reference to the "Gift of the Nightfury" short. If you haven't seen it, go look it up on youtube and give it a watch! It's fantastic XD  
The parts in italics while Hiccup is going through his father's chest are, of course, quotes from his funeral speech in HTTYD2, obviously. Gets me every time man ;-;

Thanks for reading, and please remember to leave a comment if you enjoyed! I love hearing what you guys think! Sorry it was pretty short this week, lol. Next week's will be longer! Bit of a transitional chapter.


	11. Turnabout's Fair Play

**AN:** Whoops! Had a three day weekend and it threw me off, sorry for the delay on this chapter! Blame the easter bunny, lol. Enjoy the chapter, and please make sure to drop a review if you enjoy! I really do need them to help inspire me to keep going! It only takes a moment for you to do, but they totally make my entire day ;w;

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon**

Chapter Eleven: Turnabout's Fair Play

The clouds that had been gathering over Dunbroch since that afternoon unleashed their mighty downpour shortly after sunset as the dragons flew in from over the water. The sudden decrease in visibility panicked the already frightened men, and it took Fergus and Dagur both shouting themselves hoarse to rally them to fight in earnest. Dunbroch's own fighters rejoined the fight almost immediately, having had two nights of dragon fighting already under their belts, but the Macintosh forces took a little more. Only a deep seated fear of looking a coward in front of so many men who were already fighting kept most of them on the walls.

Aodhan, shaken though he was by the sudden, irrefutable proof of the existence of dragons, was the first of his clan to rally and take up arms. He quickly leant his voice to his king and Dagur, putting aside his rivalry with the viking for the sake of all their survival. Between them, they mounted a defense that the dragons could not begin to penetrate.

Just as they were beginning to feel comfortable, though, Viggo showed his hand.

Fergus was the first one to spot the monstrosity that flew in low over the forest. To his eyes, it appeared impossibly huge; surely something that large should not be able to carry itself on the air, especially not with such small, fragile wings. It landed at the edge of the clearing leading up the gate, and it appeared to the king that something climbed down from its back.

"Dagur!" Fergus bellowed over the noise of the battle. It took a moment, but the viking eventually found his way to the king's side, Aodhan in tow.

The young lord swore violently when he saw the creature below, and Dagur looked as though he would have done the same had his jaw not been clenched so tight. He turned to Fergus and said "Evacuate the men from this section of the wall _now,_ and then send someone to the great hall to tell everyone there to brace for impact," paying no mind to the fact that he'd just given a king a direct order.

Fergus looked as though he wanted to take offense, but something in the viking's wide, green eyes made him set aside his pride for the moment, and do as he was told.

While the men around them surged into motion and pressed forward in their attempt to do as they were told, Aodhan asked Dagur, "What _is_ that?"

The viking looked up at him, watching for a moment as the rain poured down Young Macintosh's face and plastered his dark curls to his scalp. "Catastrophic Quaken," he answered eventually, then pointed into the dark and said, "See that man there? The one with the hammer? He's controlling it."

"And what's he gonna tell it to do, then?" the lord asked as he squinted against the rain to see what it was Dagur was pointing at. Honestly, he was having trouble focusing on anything besides the huge, spiked monstrosity staring them down like they were a chicken dinner.

"Destroy the castle," the man at his side answered in a matter-of-fact tone that made Aodhan whip around to stare at him.

"What?" he demanded, startled, then looked around them and noted that everyone else had cleared off that section of wall, leaving them standing alone in the rain. "We need to move," Aodhan said, and actually went so far as to grab Dagur's arm, intent on dragging the madman with him. To his surprise, though, the viking only twisted out of his grip and shoved him away.

"Go on, your Lordship. I'll be fine," Dagur said and flashed him a brief, manic grin.

Completely taken aback, Young Macintosh gaped at the other man before his gaze darted to the Quaken, which was beginning to advance, then back to the redheaded maniac in front of him who stood there as though everything was business as usual. "Look, I know I've been an arsehole," Aodhan began in a rush, "But you don't have to-"

Dagur threw his head back and laughed, cutting the other man off before he could say more. Rain pattered steadily off the viking's helm as he drew his sword and looked out across the wall towards their impending doom. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I'm not suicidal," he mused. "Now go back to your people, have them ready to man the great big gap we're about to have in our defenses." When the lord continued to hesitate, Dagur lifted his sword and gave Aodhan a firm smack across the shoulder with the flat of the blade and said in a low, insistent tone, " _Go._ "

The earth-shaking roar the Quaken unleashed then seemed to startle Young Macintosh into motion once more, and he turned on heel to follow after his men without another word. Dagur watched him go until he was sure the idiot Scot was well and truly gone, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. He watched the Quaken fold itself into a ball at its handler's command, then roll with with increasing speed towards the castle wall.

Dagur gave himself a little shake to loosen up, then backed a ways down the wall and dropped into a ready stance, grinning a little to himself as he wondered idly just how many words for idiot Merida would call him when she heard about this later. So long as he was alive to tell her himself at the end of the night, he'd be happy.

A few hundred feet out, the Quaken bounced high into the air like a child's ball, then dropped like a stone, aiming directly for the wall on which Dagur stood. Just before it hit, the viking broke into a sprint and flung himself bodily from the wall. As he arced through the air, Dagur threw his sword far out ahead of him, then hit the Quaken's back in a roll, only narrowly missing becoming impaled on one of its tremendous spikes.

Behind him, the wall crumbled, just as he had known it would, but the viking didn't hesitate or look back to see the full extent of the damage. He could hear screams in the distance, but he knew he couldn't pay them any mind, not if he was going to prevent further harm from coming to Dunbroch.

With his mind fully occupied by that thought, Dagur leaped down from the dragon's back as it began to unroll itself. He hit the ground with a grunt, and only just managed to catch himself on his hands as his boots slipped against the sodden earth, forcing him to dig his fingers into the dirt for purchase, propelling himself forward into a sprint once more. Heading directly for the Quaken's hammer wielding handler, Dagur snatched his sword up from where it had lodged, blade first, in the earth not far from where he'd landed.

His enemy's eyes went wide in alarm when he saw the battle-mad viking charging at him. Before he could signal the Quaken, Dagur roared and brought his sword down on the man's hammer in a vicious, two handed blow that knocked it clean out of his hands.

"Touch it and you die," Dagur hissed viciously as he pressed the blade of his sword against the other man's throat when he made to lunge for his hammer. The pale man's eyes went wide, and the viking could almost make out his his pulse jumping in the column of his throat. In the distance, the Quaken roared again, though appeared to have made no further moves thanks to a lack of orders. "Now, you're going to go back to your boss and tell him that if he wants to take Dunbroch, he's going to have to be a little more creative than that," he continued after a moment with a malicious sneer.

The other man nodded quickly, and when Dagur lifted his sword from his neck, turned and fled immediately back into the woods. The viking watched him go, then chuckled and muttered, "Idiot. Just point me directly to your camp, why don't you?"

The man sheathed his sword, then reached down and grabbed up the massive hammer Viggo's man had dropped in the mud at his feet, and spun it idly in his grip, testing its balance.

He'd seen Quakens before, back when he'd been working with Viggo. At the time, he had been impressed by the way his people had trained the massive beasts to respond to commands. Now, though, learning what he had from Hiccup, he only pitied the poor creatures. They had not been kindly treated, and responded out of conditioned fear rather than any true sense of loyalty.

Still, desperate times and all that.

Dagur hefted the hammer, then brought it down on a rocky patch of ground with all of his considerable strength. It didn't make much sound thanks to the rain, but sensitive as they were to vibrations in the earth, the Quaken heard it loud and clear. It turned to him expectantly, and Dagur hefted the hammer high, traced a circle in the air once with its head, then dropped it to point in the direction the creature's former handler had fled in. With any luck, Viggo's main camp lay somewhere in that direction, and was unprepared to have one of their greatest weapons unleashed against them.

The Quaken followed the movements of the hammer with its golden eyes, then sprang into the air and flew back across the forest the way it had come. Dagur watched it go, praying to whatever god happened to be listening that he had recalled the right movements to get the job done. When he was sure the dragon wasn't about to turn directly around, the viking let the hammer drop onto his shoulder and started back towards the castle, eyes occasionally darting between the slick, uneven ground at his feet and the swarm of dragons high above.

A moment later, to the viking's surprise, the dragons suddenly faltered unsteadily and broke off their attack. He glanced back in the direction he had sent the Quaken, and wondered if perhaps its fellow dragons couldn't sense or hear something that he could not. That still begged the question that had been niggling at him since the whole affair began, though: how was Viggo controlling the dragons? Unlike with the Quaken, there were no handlers that he had seen, and he'd never found evidence that the hunters had ever tried training any other breed of dragon.

Still turning over the question in his mind, the man watched as the swarm broke up and then scattered to the four winds, apparently abandoning the attack for that night. Distracted, Dagur was startled by the riot of cheers that broke out as he climbed over the wreckage of the wall he'd jumped off of just minutes before, stolen hammer slung over one shoulder.

He blinked, then grinned and lifted a hand as men from both clans rushed forward, intent on thanking or congratulating him. It didn't last long, though, as Fergus barged through the lot and clapped one of his massive hands on Dagur's shoulder before dragging him in for a tremendous bear hug. The king crowed his delight and cried, "Mad! Always knew you were mad!" He finally released the viking then, and beamed proudly down at the young man before adding, "In the best way possible, of course. Bloody brilliant, lad, using their own tricks against them!"

"I have my moments," Dagur replied with a laugh as he straightened himself out after the bone cracking hug he'd just received. Young Macintosh watched from some ways behind the king, looking distinctly displeased, but the viking ignored him in favor of Merida, who came sprinting up and flat out shoulder checked him so hard he toppled back into the mud.

"Idiot!" she shouted as she towered over him. "You howlin', lavvy heid, rubbish brained numpty!" the princess said and stomped a foot. Before he could get a word in edgewise, she continued. "Jings, you doaty nyaff, I ought to kill you myself! Bloody well jumpin' off the jobby wall like that!"

Merida's chest was heaving with exertion as she finally took a moment to catch her breath. Dagur just watched her for a moment, smiling and completely at peace as he lay prone in the mud, rain pattering down onto his upturned face. When she didn't immediately press on, he lifted his head a little and asked, "Can I get up now?"

The princess scowled fiercely at him, and made as though to land a kick right in his ribs. She stopped short, though, and groaned hugely before saying, "Yeah, alright you roaster, come on." She offered him a hand, and Dagur took it. Instead of helping himself up, though, he dragged her down into the mud, making her yelp, then growl, "Oi! Seriously?!"

Dagur just laughed and rolled to his feet, then offered her a hand in turn. She eyed it warily, but took it and allowed him to haul her up. Merida glanced down at her skirts and grumbled as she attempted to brush the worst of the mud from them. "Bastard," she muttered as the men around them laughed, her father included.

Still chuckling, Fergus turned his attention from the pair of young people back to his warriors. "Alright, you lot! We've a bit of a reprieve for now, but gods only know when they'll be back. In the meantime, I want a watch back on the walls, and this breach damn well sealed!"

Merida rubbed at her shoulder absently as she listened to her father bark orders, then tell the guard captain to break the men up into shifts again so everyone could get a little extra rest while their luck held. Maybe shoulder checking Dagur while he was in full armor hadn't been such a great idea after all. She'd just been so overcome with worry after hearing what the idiot had done that finding out he had made it back safe had resulted in the kind of relief that presented itself in violent burst of affection and frustration.

The princess glanced at the viking sidelong and noticed that his smile had slipped as he stared out into the rain and dark through the gaping hole in their wall. Not liking the somber expression on her normally ebullient friend's face, she nudged him lightly with her elbow and flashed him a reassuring smile when he looked her way. He relaxed a little and returned the gesture, though she could see the concern that still lingered in his green eyes.

Done giving out his orders for the moment, Fergus turned back to them and said, "Alright you two, come with me," surprising both of them. "You too, lad," the king told Aodhan as they walked past the lord on their way back to the great hall. The dark haired man shot Merida a questioning look, but she only shrugged, just as lost as he was. He did, she noted, pointedly refuse to so much as glance in Dagur's direction. Her redheaded friend seemed to content to do the same.

Brow furrowed in thought, the Princess once again wondered at the source of the men's enmity. Sure, Dagur thought Aodhan was annoying and full of himself, but she had too once and _she_ didn't hate him. If anything, she liked him more than ever, though she wouldn't exactly call him a friend yet. Friend _ **ly**_ to be certain, though.

She was prevented thinking on the matter further by their arrival in the great hall and her mother's relieved greeting. She hugged Fergus first, then her daughter, and then completely took Dagur off guard by wrapping him up in a quick embrace as well before turning to thank Aodhan warmly for he and his men's assistance.

The princess practically had to lead Dagur up the stairs by the hand he was so out of sorts after the Queen's show of favor. Aodhan sneered, but only when he was certain neither the King nor the Queen were looking his direction. That seemed to snap the viking out of it, and he scowled. Not for long, though, as the triplets joined them, taking turns dangling from Dagur's arms or dashing about Merida's skirts.

When they reached the secondary meeting room at the top of the stairs the royal family had been using as an audience chamber while the Great Hall continued to serve as an infirmary and gathering place, Elinor fixed Harris, Hamish, and Hubert with a firm look that sent them scurrying up into a seat where they would be out from underfoot while the adults talked.

"Is something wrong?" Aodhan as they all took chairs of their own around a round wooden table. "Besides the obvious," the lord added as an afterthought, his large nose wrinkling at the situation as a whole.

Elinor deftly swept several papers into a neat stack before her and put them to one side as her husband grunted thoughtfully, then turned his gaze to Dagur and asked, "How likely do you think it is your fantastic, if mad, gambit earlier has scared off Grimborn and his men for good?"

"If he's not back here tomorrow at sundown, then I'm a Gronkle," the viking answered immediately and without hesitation.

"Well that's not a very clear answer," Aodhan commented rudely into the somber silence that fell in the wake of the other man's pronouncement.

"Shut your gob, you sour whelk," Dagur snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared across the table at the young lord. He didn't make to get up, though Merida could tell he dearly wanted too by the not-so-subtle clenching of his fists on the arms of his chair.

Aodhan opened his mouth to retort, but Elinor held up one hand for silence and was immediately obeyed. "No more sniping at one another like children, or I'll toss you both out on your ears," she threatened with perfect calm. Both men immediately dropped their eyes, while the triplets giggled silently behind their hands at them, clearly amused to see someone else on the receiving end of Elinor's sharp words for a change. "We need a plan," she stated simply and glanced around the table, clearly asking for suggestions.

"What we _need_ is help," Dagur said with a sigh as he sat back in his chair a little to force himself to calm a little. "How much longer, do you think, until the other clans arrive?" he asked.

Help.

The seed of an idea began to sprout in Merida's mind, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth as she thought.

"Clan Dingwall is closest after Macintosh," Fergus answered, nodding to Aodhan, who had bristled again when Dagur seemed to imply that his clan's forces weren't enough. "But it'll be at least another three days before they get here. Add another three to that for Clan Macguffin."

Young Macintosh brought his fist down sharply on the table and said, "We fought _well_ tonight. We can-"

"We can what?" Dagur snapped. "Keep fighting dragons indefinitely? Even assuming that Quaken tonight was the worst Viggo can throw at us, we are only just barely holding the dragons back every night." He stared Aodhan down as he pressed on. "We were barely fending them off before, and _now_ we have a great bloody hole in the East wall! Allfather only knows what else that maniac has up his sleeve. What happens if he decides to attack during the day as well, cut off our supply routes?" The gaze swept around the table, clearly asking the question of everyone there.

"We've stores enough to last us for some time, and water won't be a problem," Elinor said slowly, flipping through a few of the papers she'd stacked before her, "But with the extra mouths to feed assuming the rest of the Clans come to our assistance..."

"Forget food, what about the wounded?" Fergus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bandages and such won't last forever either."

Aodhan settled back in his chair, clearly chastened into a less furious mood as the dire facts were laid out before them. "Alright, so we _do_ need help. The others will be here soon, we just have to hold on til then."

"Viggo could decide to get clever and cut them off from reaching us. Send a lot of dragons at them out of the blue when they don't even know what they're riding into? It'll be a massacre," Fergus hypothesized grimly.

Young Macintosh paled a little at the mere suggestion, as did everyone else. Viggo Grimborn and his veritable army hadn't stopped Clan Macintosh from riding to their aid, but who knew if that would continue to hold true now that the enemy forces were well entrenched.

A grim silence fell over the table again, solemn enough that even the triplets stopped fidgeting and teasing one another in their shared seat.

"What about..." Merida began, breaking the quiet so unexpectedly that all eyes were automatically drawn to her. She hesitated, but pushed on, seeing the desperation for a solution in all their faces. Even a mad idea was better than none, right? "What about the witch?"

There was a moment of absolute quiet, and then Elinor asked, " _The_ witch?"

' _The one that turned me into a bear?'_ went unspoken by Merida's mother, but the princess could practically hear her thinking it. "Yes," the redhead said, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, becoming more confident by the moment now that she finally had the words out.

"Lass, I know we're desperate, but-" Fergus began, expression both awkward and incredulous at his daughter's suggestion.

"But _what,_ Dad?" Merida asked, voice intense as she stared around the table. "Like you say, we are desperate. Well and truly _desperate,_ " she said. "Dunbroch faces destruction at the hands... er, _claws_ of an enemy we can't hope to defeat on our own, and gods only know if we'll hold out long enough for the clans to arrive."

"Merida," her father began, though Elinor remained quietly introspective.

Merida didn't give him a chance to finish. "You've heard Dagur's stories, Dad," the princess insisted as she waved at her friend, who was watching her with an unreadable expression that she wasn't quite sure what to make of. "There's dragons even bigger and more awful than what we saw today, and it would have leveled the castle if it weren't for Dagur! There wasn't anything we could even _do_ about it."

Fergus grimaced at this, and his lack of a reply was all Merida needed to know he was fully aware of these facts.

"Wait wait wait," Aodhan cut in. "This witch, this is the one from a few years ago when, er-" he hesitated, and glanced over at the Queen.

Elinor just sighed, and nodded, "Yes, my lord, when I was turned into a _bear_ and Mor'Du was finally slain."

"Right," the man said. "Just...thought I'd clarify," he said, looking as though he were on very unsteady ground indeed. That night was not one that was regularly discussed in detail. Or, at least, not the _full_ story, complete with Merida instigating of the whole fiasco in a desperate attempt to avoid marriage. Fergus had quite insisted on adding the final battle with Mor'Du and how it had been HIS wife who had slain him to his repertoire of fantastic stories, despite his family's objections. News always got around, but this particular piece was so outside the norm that no one knew what was truth and what was exaggeration. "Would she actually help us?" he asked, brow furrowed, though he was clearly curious.

"Mer, you'd know best," Dagur said, tilting his head to one side in question.

The princess actually hesitated before answering. "She'd have to, right? If Viggo takes Dunbroch, who _knows_ where he'll turn his attention next. She may be a crazy old witch, but she's still a Scot," she said, becoming more convinced by the moment.

All eyes turned back to Elinor, then, who was still looking thoughtful. While everyone was watching her, though, she had eyes only for her daughter. Merida wasn't sure what her mother was looking for when she searched her eyes, but whatever it was, she seemed to find it. "I think, at this juncture, it would be wise to pursue _any_ avenue that might turn the tide of this ugly war that has come uninvited to our gates."

A smile of relief spread across Merida's features, and she turned to Dagur, who flashed her one of his lopsided grins before saying. "Good. We'll set out at first light then."

"What?" Aodhan demanded. "You can't-"

"You want the princess go to alone?" Dagur asked, arching his brow at the man as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his broad, armored chest.

"No, but _you_ can't go with her!" the lord said with a scowl.

The viking scoffed. "Why not?"

"Because-" Young Macintosh began, then stopped, thought for a moment, and continued unwillingly through grit teeth, "Because _we_ need you here. You're the only one that knows what the hell to do about all these gods forsaken monsters."

"First," Dagur said, holding up a finger, "They're not monsters. I don't know what's going on here, or how Viggo is controlling the dragons, but this _isn't_ normal for them." Aodhan just rolled his eyes and sneered, clearly skeptical. "Second," the viking continued, "I'm the only person here competent in one-on-one fighting with dragons. If Merida get's ambushed on her way to the witch, I'm the only person who could conceivably be of help without sending half our forces out with her."

"He's right," Merida said quickly to her parents and Aodhan. "You should have seen him the other night fighting that Monstrous Nightmare," she added, still a little in awe of what she had witnessed. "He punched it right in the jaw!"

"Bullshit," Aodhan scoffed immediately, clearly on impulse.

"You callin' me a liar?" Merida demanded fiercely, taking the man off guard. At the ugly look she gave him with her intense blue eyes, Young Macintosh backed off almost immediately.

"No, if you saw it, it must be true, I guess," he admitted reluctantly, though it was clearly a bitter pill to swallow.

During their brief argument, Fergus and Elinor had been speaking amongst themselves. "Alright, shut it," Fergus said with a wave of his hand before one of the young people could find something _else_ to nitpick at one another about. "The lad's right," he said and nodded at Dagur, who flashed Aodhan a smug grin. "We can't send half the damn army with Merida, so we'll just have to send our best instead."

"You'll set out at dawn as Dagur suggested," Elinor continued. "If you cannot find the witch, though, you are to return by sundown, am I understood?" she asked, watching Merida and Dagur both with a critical eye.

"Yes, mum," Merida answered quickly, knowing this would be the best offer she got.

"Of course, your majesty," Dagur agreed immediately.

"Before you go, Dagur, I want you with me to look over some siege weapon plans Elinor had the servants dig up earlier today; see if they're up to measure. If things keep going the way they've been, we're gonna need more than bows to win the day."

Dagur nodded and pushed himself up out of his seat. "Alright, let's get started, then." He looked at Merida and said, "I've always got a bag ready to go, so you'd best pack yourself some basics, just in case. Get some sleep after that and meet me in the stables at dawn."

"Alright. I'll do one last round in the infirmary too," she said with a little sigh, but got to her feet as well.  
As their little party broke up, the triplets rushed to their sister and clung to her skirts, giving her piteous looks clearly begging her to take them with her. While she chuckled and pried them loose, she noticed Aodhan leave before anyone else, a thunderous expression on his face.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Look forward to some titillating drama next week -waggles eyebrows-

Make sure to drop a review if you enjoyed! It only takes a moment and totally makes my day ;w;


	12. Her Brother's Keeper

**AN:** Thanks so much to everyone that left comments last week, they totally made my day/s! I absolutely love hearing what you guys think of how the story is unfolding, as well as your hopes/theories for things to come, so please keep it up! They definitely help me continue writing, so it's in your best interest to drop a review, yeah? ;D

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Twelve: Her Brother's Keeper

After having spelled Healer Selma for a couple of hours so she could get some time away from their patients, Merida's feet were dragging with exhaustion. Three nights in a row of intense stress, a reversed sleep schedule, and precious little rest when she _did_ have time were finally starting catch up with the princess. On her way to her own bed, she decided to stop and find Dagur first to make sure her father didn't keep him running til dawn. Besides caring for her friend's well being, he'd be precious little help if he were dead on his feet come morning.

Spying the viking up on the wall and no longer in her father's company, Merida hurried after him. He didn't hear her call his name, though, and disappeared into the back section of the castle by the time she made it up the stairs. Lifting her skirts a little, she picked up the pace, intent on chasing him down however tired she might feel.

Just before she reached an intersection in the hall, she realized she heard voices ahead; angry ones that brought her up short before she actually walked around the corner. Instead, she stopped and listened.

"You're mad," the first voice snarled, and Merida immediately pegged it for an irate Aodhan.

"You're really gonna have to come up with some new insults, arguing with you is starting to get boring," Dagur countered. On the surface, his voice seemed light and uncaring, but the princess could hear a dangerous edge just below it. The young lord was close to pushing the viking too far after too many nights of too little sleep.

"That stupid stunt could have gotten you killed," Young Macintosh continued, ignoring the other man's jab. "Then where would we be?"

Dagur scoffed. "According to you, a lot better off," the redhead snapped. From where she hid around the corner, Merida flinched a little, remembering what her friend had told her of his treatment by Aodhan when he was away from Dunbroch.

"We'd all be dead without you," Aodhan ground out reluctantly, surprising Merida enough that she actually dared to peek cautiously around the corner. As expected, the men were standing toe-to-toe again, noses scant inches apart as they stared one another down. They both looked flushed and furious; it was a miracle the tapestry hanging behind Dagur hadn't burst into flames under the combined heat of their glares. "The King would be dead without you, and we'd not stand a chance if you hadn't been here."

"Odin bless, the little lord think's I'm useful," Dagur said in a mocking falsetto as he clasped his hands before him. He dropped them again just as quickly, though, and continued in a deadpan voice, "Yay."

Aodhan looked frustrated enough to punch the viking, and judging by the way he clenched his white-knuckled fists at his sides, Merida got the feeling he was only just managing to refrain. "Yeah, you _are_ useful, which means you can't go jumping off the bloody wall like some jakey dobber!" the young lord insisted, voice rising to a shout by the time he made it to the end of his sentence.

As she watched, something changed in Dagur's face. "What do you care?" he demanded angrily and jabbed Aodhan in the chest with a finger hard enough to make the other man wince.

"I said-" the young lord began as he was forced to take a step back when the viking took one forward, advancing on him like a predator.

"No," Dagur cut him off, voice sharp and growing in volume. "What do you _really_ care, pretty boy? I'm just viking trash; what's my life to you?"

Young Macintosh grit his teeth. "Quit calling me that, you stupid-"

"What?" Dagur asked innocently, though the way he narrowed his eyes and stepped in closer to the other man was anything but. His voice went deep and velvety in a way Merida had never heard before; it made even _her_ toes curl as he murmured, " _Pretty boy._ " She couldn't imagine how Aodhan felt being on the receiving end of it.

The young lord's back was almost against the wall now, and a deep blush was crawling up the column of his long neck to his cheeks and ears. When Dagur advanced another step, putting them nose to nose again, Aodhan shoved him bodily away and stepped forward himself. "You're off your scabby viking head," he snapped. "Just because it turns out dragons exist doesn't mean you're not bloody mad, Dagur. Everyone thinks it! Gods only know what the king sees in you; if it weren't for him and the princess taking a shine to you, you'd've been turned out on your arse years ago." The young lord's voice was harsh, and his color was still high as he continued, "You're just a charity case! You think they keep you around because you're good with a blade? They just feel bad for you!"

Merida actually considered stepping around the corner and putting a stop to the argument at that point, but the set of Dagur's shoulders kept her from doing so. The man might be her best friend, but somehow she got the feeling that her presence would be distinctly unwelcome at that point. In fact, she really oughtn't be listening in at all.

On the other hand, if one of them wound up trying to kill the other, it'd be better if there were _someone_ around to try and stop them…

"Good enough to knock _you_ on your sorry arse," Dagur countered as he pushed back again, making Aodhan's back hit the wall with a dull thump.

"That was _luck_ ," the lord growled and bared his teeth. "Meet me on the field again, and-"

"Thor's hammer," the viking snapped, "Could you just...just _shut up_ for once in your damn life you arrogant bastard!" Dagur commanded, and before Young Macintosh could say another word, the viking pinned him bodily to the wall and claimed Aodhan's lips with his own, effectively silencing him.

The kiss was almost violent, their mouths colliding with enough force to make the lord gasp in pain as tooth met lip, and Dagur's hands grabbed him with strength enough to bruise.

Merida was forced to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle the little gasp of shock that threatened to escape her. A fierce blush immediately overtook her features as she pulled back around the corner she'd been hiding behind, heart jumping in her chest. She'd always had a feeling Dagur liked men (though he'd never actually expressed a particular interest in anyone so far as she knew), but to see him like that with _Aodhan_ of all people was a complete shock.

Suddenly worried that her friend might do something he'd later regret, she peeked cautiously around the corner again, expecting to see Aodhan trying to fight off Dagur's attentions.

To her surprise, the taller man seemed to be doing anything but. As she watched, the lord's fingernails skittered over Dagur's armored shoulders until his fingers found purchase on the straps of the man's chestplate. He used them to drag the viking in closer still, until their bodies were flush, his lean figure trapped between Dagur and the smooth stonework of the wall. Merida's blush only intensified at the low moan that escaped her fellow noble when the viking plunged his tongue into Aodhan's mouth. The erotic sound seemed to embolden Dagur, as he released his restraining hold on the other man's arms and allowed his hands to rove across his shoulders, then down his chest and stomach to his hips.

The shoulder of his kilt knocked askew, Aodhan was breathing hard by the time one of his rival's hands slipped around to his lower back and the other came to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers entangled in the curls of his dark hair. He swore quietly into Dagur's mouth, something that made the viking smirk even as the young lord tore the tie from the shorter man's red hair, freeing it so he could rake his long fingers through it. The tables threatened to turn when Young Macintosh took a fistful of Dagur's hair and used it to pull his rival's head back to an angle that gave him a window to force his tongue into the other man's mouth. The viking's breath caught in his chest, and rather than resenting the shift in power, he used his hand on Aodhan's neck to pull him in deeper.

Hearing voices in the distance, Merida gave a guilty jump and realized that things were about to get rather more out of hand than they really ought to, considering the amorous pair might get walked in on at any moment. The princess glanced around, looking for some way to warn them without actually saying something herself and giving away the fact that she'd been playing a shameless spy.

Spotting a door further back the way she had come, Merida sneaked as quietly as she could towards it, then opened it to a noisy creak of old hinges that hadn't seen oil in years, and slammed it shut with a bang that echoed loudly down the hall.

She waited a moment, then walked back towards where she had left the odd couple, not expecting to find either man when she came around the corner. To her surprise, though, Dagur was still there, hair tie nowhere in sight, staring into the middle distance. Anyone else might have thought he was simply admiring the tapestry that hung before him, but Merida could tell his attention was elsewhere.

"Dagur?" she asked, tone gentle in an attempt not to startle him.

Despite her effort, the man still jumped visibly, and gave her a guilty look. "Mer," he said, one hand going to his chest as he gave her a half-hearted smile. "Scared the life out of me," the man admitted weakly and pushed a few stray strands of hair back from his face. Dagur's lips were swollen and ruddy from kissing, and his color was still high, though not quite so red as Aodhan had been.

"Are you...alright?" Merida asked hesitantly when the man continued to act distracted, his normally keen green eyes vague and unfocused, like he wasn't quite all there in the present with her.

"No," he answered automatically, then gave himself a shake and crashed back to reality as he seemed to realize what he'd said. "What? I mean, yeah...uh-" The viking looked at her then. _Really_ looked at her, and realized the truth. "Oh," he said, shoulders sagging as a pained expression crossed his features. "Oh…you saw."

Merida winced at his realization, guilt churning in her stomach as she nodded apologetically.

Looking more embarrassed and awkward than she'd ever seen him, Dagur asked in small, meek voice, "How much did you see?"

"Um-" the princess muttered, sharing in her friend's embarrassment as she tried and failed to meet his gaze straight on. In the end, all she could do was manage to look even more apologetic.

Dagur's shoulders sagged further in defeat as he sighed and leaned against the tapestry. "All of it, then," he said and let his head drop back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. "Faaaantastic."

Merida watched as her friend dragged one of his broad hands down his face before rubbing absently at his stubbled jaw. Seeing how troubled he was by the whole affair, not just her witnessing it, the princess swallowed her own awkwardness and took a breath before suggesting, "Come on, let's take a walk."

Her friend glanced at her sidelong and eventually answered, "Only if it ends at the cliffs so I can throw myself off."

A small huff of amusement escaped the young woman as she gently took his elbow and tugged him away from the wall. "Will the tower roof do?" she asked.

The viking seemed to give the suggestion some thought, then allowed her to pull him away and down the hall. "It'll do in a pinch, I guess," he answered.

The pair made the trip in silence, and more importantly, without bumping into Merida's parents or Aodhan. By the time they made it up to the roof, Dagur had pulled himself together and seemed less scatter-brained. Together, they sat near the peak on the wet shingles, shoulder-to-shoulder as they gazed heavenward at the slowly clearing sky. The rain had finally let up half an hour before, but the clouds still lingered.

"So," Merida ventured after some minutes spent in companionable silence while Dagur gathered his thoughts. "Aodhan?"

Dagur cringed. "Aodhan," he repeated with a sigh, looking tired despite the riot of emotions that had taken up residence behind his ribs.

When her friend didn't offer more, the princess offered, "I didn't realize you liked him that way."

"I don't," the viking answered immediately. At Merida's skeptical look, though, he amended, "I didn't." Dagur fell silent for a moment, and the princess left him to his thoughts until he eventually just huffed, threw up his arms and declared, "Odin's beard he just...pisses me off! He wouldn't stop talking and I just wanted to shut him up-"

"What, with your mouth?" Merida asked with an incredulous laugh at his statement.

Again, Dagur's mouth opened before he could put any thought into his answer. "Yes!" The man's lips twisted as though he'd eaten something sour. "No...wait. Gods, I don't know," he said, then slumped forward and planted his forehead on his bent knees, arms dangling helplessly at his sides.

"Oh, Dagur," the princess murmured, then reached over and rubbed gentle circles across her friend's broad shoulders. The viking didn't need much encouragement to lean over until his head landed in Merida's lap. The position left his body at an odd angle across the roof, but he didn't seem to care as he focused very intently on the sturdy, forest green fabric of the woman's skirts and plucked absently at a stray thread. It was one of her older, more practical gowns; with everything that had been happening, it simply wasn't worth wearing anything else.

The viking didn't say anything for a time, and sensing the man's continuing discomfort, the princess allowed him his peace. To fill the silence, though, she hummed quietly to herself and combed her fingers gently through Dagur's unbound hair. The old lullaby about a 'noble maiden fair' was the first thing to come to mind, though she didn't put voice to the words she knew by heart. Still, it was a sweet tune, and between it and Merida's gentle fingers through his hair, the viking relaxed in stages until he was on the edge of sleep.

Eventually, though, Dagur stirred to find his friend braiding some of the fine hairs at the base of his hairline just below his right ear.

"Hey," he muttered and yawned.

Merida paused in her attentions, and said, "Sorry, got a bit carried away." She smiled a little and added, "Normally Mum's is the only hair I get to braid. She has so much it's a chore, though."

"No, it's fine," Dagur answered, then twisted a little so he no longer laid in such a contorted position. His hand went to his hair, fingertips brushing over the small braid before he smiled a little and glanced up at Merida. "You know, it's tradition back home to braid the hair of people you care about like this." There was a certain sadness in his eyes as he told her this. "It doesn't have to be romantic, though it can, of course," he continued. "Lovers do it, mothers do their children, husbands their wives, or even particularly dear friends."

"Really?" she asked curiously as she took up the little braid again and continued her work on it, pale fingers moving deftly along the red strands. "That sounds...sweet," the princess admitted with a smile.

"They're a reminder of the people who care about you, so you can carry them wherever you go," Dagur explained as the young woman finished, then tied the end in a knot so it wouldn't come loose. He gazed distractedly off into the darkness of the night when Merida was done and ran his calloused fingertips over the intertwined strands of his own hair again. "I've never had one before," he admitted softly a moment later.

A sharp pang shot through Merida's heart at his admission, and she had to fight very hard not to reply impulsively in that moment. Her pity, she knew, would be unwelcome. Instead, she asked, "Do one for me?"

Dagur twisted around sharply to glance up at her, green eyes wide with surprise as he watched his best friend reach back into the fall of her wild hair and pull forth a single curl from the many. She pushed the rest out of the way as best she could, then flicked the curl invitingly at him, a shy, but earnest smile on her face and in her big blue eyes.

He stared at her for a moment, seeming caught by disbelief, before scrambling upright. "Yes!" he said, a little more emphatically than he might have wished. "I mean, of course. I'd be...I'd be honored," Dagur clarified a little more moderately. Merida didn't laugh at him, though, only smiled a little wider and offered him her hair.

"You know how, right?" she teased him to lighten the mood. He just gave her a flat look as he proceeded to part her long, red-gold curl into three sections. The princess chuckled, and turned her attention to the stars above so Dagur would better be able to do his task. Long as it was, her hair took more time to braid, and while her friend worked, Merida ventured, "When you're ready to talk about Aodhan, you know I'm here for you, right?"

Dagur paused at her words, then pressed on in his task as he sighed and admitted, "Even _I_ don't know how I feel about that idiot right now."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Merida's lips and she reached out and patted her friend's knee as she replied, "That's okay too. You don't have to rush."

There was more silence, and then, "Thanks, Mer."

The princess glanced sidelong at him and said, "Well, that's what best friends are for, right?"

Dagur's gut twisted at her words, but not in a bad way. He loved the princess deeply, with the sort of affection he'd only ever attributed to Heather before meeting Merida. He felt a little guilty thinking it, considering he and Heather were related by blood, but Dagur knew the princess of Dunbroch better than his own sibling, and loved her all the more for it. To hear her express such affection towards _him,_ to want to braid his hair and have him do hers in turn...his heart felt full enough to break.

"Yeah. Yeah it is," he murmured, dropping his eyes to save him the embarrassment of Merida seeing just how deeply her words had touched him. He finished her braid, and tied it off carefully to make sure it didn't unravel, then watched as his friend inspected his handiwork.

"Not half bad," she said as she ran the little plait between her fingers.

"Glad my token of heartfelt affection manages to pass muster," Dagur mused, voice teasing as he watched her.

Merida just laughed, then caught her friend completely off guard by leaning in and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, we should get to bed. Long day ahead of us, tomorrow," she said and got to her feet.

The viking reached up to steady her, then got up as well and followed her back to the stairs. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you _could_ use a little beauty sleep."

"Oi!"

* * *

The dregs of the previous night's storm had cleared by dawn, leaving the air fresh, sharp, and cool as Dagur hiked his pack up a little on his shoulder and strode across the courtyard to the stables.

There wasn't much in the bag itself, since they weren't planning on being gone overnight. Just some emergency rations, water, a fire starter, and some first aid supplies. Once upon a time he had been the sort to charge ahead, heedless of any potential harm to himself or the men that followed him. These days, though, he found himself wondering at his own foolhardiness. Maybe it was the near death experience that had done it, or, he thought as he spotted Merida leading Angus out of his stall, maybe he'd just finally realized that if he wanted to protect the people he cared about, he needed to keep himself in one piece.

Merida smiled at him as she adjusted her steed's saddle tack one last time to make sure Angus wasn't trying any tricks, then asked, "Sleep alright, Dagur?"

"Like a baby," the viking answered truthfully as he ran one broad hand over the horse's neck and shoulder in greeting. When he'd reached his bunk in the guard house, Dagur had half expected to be kept up, tossing and turning for the rest of the night after everything that had happened. Some combination of physical and mental exhaustion had conspired against that idea, though, and the man had dropped off so fast that he didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow. He hadn't so much as rolled over in his sleep until Harris, Hubert, and Hamish had come to wake him just before dawn.

The triplets had followed him about the barracks as he collected his things and decided what else to bring. He'd left behind his heavier armor in favor of traveling light. Since he and Merida planned to ride a single steed (his decision, after pointing out the night before that it'd be easier if one of them could fight while the other kept Angus under control, should they be attacked), he'd figured that fewer extra pounds would be better in the long run.

He smiled at the princess over Angus' saddle and remarked, "You're looking lovely as ever, so I'll assume the same for you."

The viking's flattery startled a laugh out of Merida and she swatted him with the reins she had already attached to her horse's bridle. "Off with you, ya nyaff," she commanded him, still grinning. Truth was, she'd had a restless night, full of nerves over their mission. Thoughts of what they would do if the witch refused to help them, or worse...if they couldn't find her at all, had plagued the princess' dreams, and woken her more than once.

Merida's eyes landed on the tremendous hole that still remained in the East wall. Men of both clans had taken shifts in patching it with the rubble of its sad remains throughout the night, but it was still a frightening gap in their defense.

Dagur caught where she was looking, then reached out and tugged lightly on the slender braid he'd left in her hair where it draped over her shoulder. "Come on," he said, "The sooner we go, the sooner we can be back with help."

Her eyes met his and she seemed to take his words to heart. She nodded, her lips pressed into a firm line as she found her famous determination once more (pig-headedness, he'd called it more than once out of frustration in more dangerous moments), then lead Angus towards the gate where they saw a small group of people waiting to wish them luck.

The triplets stood first and foremost, and they made a rush for Merida as soon as she got close. Just behind them, though were Fergus and Elinor, accompanied by a handful of well wishers from both clans and, to Dagur's barely contained surprise, Aodhan.

Merida smiled down at her little brothers as she wrangled each in turn, and planted a kiss on their curly heads. They put up only a token objection to this, for the look of things while they hugged their dear sister about the legs, then jumped to give Dagur the same treatment. The viking's eyes threatened to tear up at this, so he gave them each a gruff goodbye as he tousled their hair.

"We'll be back before you know it," Merida told them confidently. "You won't even notice we're gone," she said, "But make sure you don't make things harder for mum and dad while we're gone, alright? Dagur and I are heading off to bring help, but you have to help too, alright?"

The boys shared a look among themselves that forced Dagur to hide a grin behind his hand lest he ruin the attempted solemnity of the moment. Eventually, though, they nodded, then stepped aside so the king and queen could approach.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Fergus swept Merida up in a hug that made her grunt with the tightness of it. "No need to be so dramatic, Dad!" the girl wheezed from where she was pinned against her father's chest. "We'll be back by tonight!"

The Bear King paid his daughter's words no mind as he carefully released her, and leveled a fierce glare at Dagur, who blinked in surprise. "You take good care of her, lad, or it's your head on a pike."

Before the viking could so much as open his mouth to object to the implication that he wouldn't fight to the death for his best friend, Elinor stepped in and said, "Fergus, be kind. Dagur has always done his best by Merida."

Now it was the queen who received a look of surprise from Dagur. Attention focused on her, he realized that Elinor was carrying a bundle in her arms.

She smiled at him as she saw him take note of her burden. "I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Dagur," Elinor said with a soft smile.

"What?" he asked, confused. "Why?"

The queen chuckled a little at the young man's obvious befuddlement. "Because," she said, "I waited far too long to give you this. You've long since earned your place here at Dunbroch, and it was unkind of me to withhold it from you. After last night, though, I realized my error in full and can only say that I am sorry I did not give this to you sooner."

As Dagur watched, Elinor drew away the plain covering she'd used to hide her gift, only to reveal another swath of fabric beneath. The man was fairly certain his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the shades of green, purple, and red that blended and interwove in the distinct plaid pattern unique to Clan Dunbroch.

Beside him, Merida let out a little gasp, "Oh, mum," she murmured, beaming broad as day from Elinor to Fergus, and then to Dagur, who was still staring at the proffered length of cloth. "Well go on, you numpty! Put it on!" she said, full of eager delight as she nudged him excitedly with her elbow.

Startled from his reverie, the viking flushed and glanced from Merida, to her parents, and for some reason he couldn't put a finger on, to Aodhan. The lord looked almost as surprised as Dagur himself, but Elinor just chuckled and unfolded the kilt as she said, "Let me teach you."

In a hurry as they were, the queen wrapped the kilt around Dagur's waist, over his armor and pants with deft hands as she gently explained what she was doing. When she was done, the viking looked downright Scottish, clad in Dunbroch's colors with his sword at his hip once more as Elinor attached a simple kilt pin as the finishing touch.

"There now, don't you look fine?" she asked with a smile. "We'll find you a proper pin when you come back," she added, "It was the best I could manage on short notice, I'm afraid."

"It's-" Dagur began, but words failed as he glanced down and let one hand drift across the soft fabric that fell across his broad chest, and then the silver pin. "I, uh..." the viking cleared his throat sharply and gave the king and queen a low bow. "Thank you," he finally managed. The simple words couldn't begin to truly express his gratitude for their acceptance into their clan, but he hoped the heartfelt emotion that was plain in his voice went some way towards doing so.

"Och, cut it out," Fergus said, sounding a little choked up himself as he dragged Dagur upright, and gave him an affectionate shove that landed him right in Merida's arms.

"Welcome to the family!" she said with a giddy laugh and threw her arms around him in a tight hug that quite possibly rivaled the one her father had given her just moments before.

Dagur bit down fiercely on the inside of his cheek and wrapped the girl up in his arms just as tight and bought a moment to collect himself by burying his face in her thick mane of wild red hair. When he pulled back he smiled broadly at her, and said, "You'll never get rid of me now."

Merida just laughed and pushed him away while those who had gathered to wish them well on their journey applauded and did so before going their separate ways. The king and queen didn't linger long either, both apparently realizing that if they didn't leave first, they were unlikely to actually allow their firstborn leave at all. Elinor pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek, and gave her a far more gentle hug than her father had, then followed the Bear King back to the castle.

The triplets had already vanished by that point, but to both their surprise, Aodhan remained.

"Be careful," he told Merida, clearly sincere in his words as he looked down at her for a moment, then offered her his hand.

The princess accepted it readily, and clasped his forearm tightly as she asked, "Take care of the place while I'm away, will you?"

"You have my word," Young Macintosh said. He didn't so much as look at Dagur until Merida glanced surreptitiously between them, then stepped away and began to lead Angus toward the gate.

Dagur started to follow her after an uncomfortable moment of silence passed between himself and Aodhan. To his surprise, though, the taller man side-stepped to block his path, making the Viking look him full in the face for the first time since their...encounter the night before.

"Don't-" the young lord began, then hesitated awkwardly. He grit his teeth, though, and reluctantly ground out, "Don't die." Before the moment could do anything so embarrassing as turn sentimental, Aodhan punched Dagur as hard as he could in the shoulder, then strode off as though he'd never said anything at all.

The viking winced and grabbed his arm at the sudden attack,then spun on heel to watch the other man go, a little at a loss for words. Before he could get out of earshot, though, Dagur managed to say, "You too."  
It might have just been wishful thinking on his part, but for a moment, he swore Aodhan actually hesitated.

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 **AN:** Ahaha, I've been looking forward to posting this chapter for ages X'D Hope you guys enjoyed it! If so, _please_ make sure to drop a review telling me so! They really make my day, help me keep writing fanfiction, and only take you a moment to do! Think of it like leaving a tip, lol. I work really hard on all my writing, so it's really nice to get feedback on what I'm doing!


	13. The Witch in the Wych

**AN:** Welcome to chapter 13, hope you enjoy! Remember to leave a review if you do! It only takes a moment and I absolutely _adore_ hearing what you guys enjoyed about each chapter! Like, seriously, completely makes my day! You can even do it on anon, I won't judge!

Also, if you enjoy my writing and my fanart, you might be interested to know that I'm currently in the very beginning stages of developing a video game! You can follow awake-the-game on tumblr for updates and character design, etc!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Thirteen: The Witch in the Wych

The sun was only just peering over the horizon as Merida urged Angus into a brisk trot once they hit the bridge, Dagur's arms slung loosely around her middle where he sat behind her. She'd thought there might be a bit of a scuffle when it came time to mount up, but the viking hadn't objected to her decision to sit frontmost on Angus. He _was_ her horse, after all, and he wasn't much accustomed to having anyone but her ride him. Even having a second person on board had made the animal fidgety, but under Merida's expert hand, he'd soon settled and they'd been off.

They were both on edge as they traveled down the winding path through the woods towards the circle of standing stones. Each expected to be attacked at any moment, but when no dragons dropped from the sky to accost them after a good ten minutes of riding, they both began to relax. For now, at least, it seemed that Viggo's pattern of attacking only at night was holding.

"You really think the witch will help us?" Dagur asked conversationally as the minutes ticked past.

Merida was quiet for a minute before finally admitting, "I'm more worried we won't be able to find her."

"Haven't you been to her hut twice now?" he asked, brow furrowed in concern. Then again, it _had_ been two years since then, and presumably Merida had never gone back again…

"Yeah," the princess answered slowly, dragging out the vowels in a way that only worried the man behind her further. "But...I did kind of blow up her hut the last time mum and I went," she admitted.

"What?!" Dagur demanded, making the young woman flinch. "That seems like important information to be holding out on, Mer!"

"I know!" she groaned and dropped her head back, bumping Dagur's chest lightly before righting herself. "That still doesn't change the fact that this might be our only hope, though," she added with a sigh. "We'll just have to hope that she's still there, or that she's at least left some clue as to where she's gone."

The viking just grunted at this answer, clearly unhappy, but unwilling to badger her further over it, much to the princess' relief. Like her, he realized that there wasn't much point crying over spilt milk at this point.

Both of them kept a close eye on their surroundings, but other than a solitary stag they startled when Angus broke into a clearing, they saw precious little more than birds. For awhile, it was easy to pretend they were on a simple afternoon outing, just the two of them on a hunt. As soon as they reached the circle stones, though, that illusion evaporated like so much mist under the rising sun.

"Norns protect me," Dagur muttered as they entered the clearing in which the great monoliths stood, "this place gives me goosebumps."

Merida nodded her agreement and shuddered a little. "Like walkin' over your own grave."

Angus seemed to share in the sentiment as he shied away from the stones, one of which lay broken across the ground, presumably still covering the body of Mor'Du. The princess didn't allow the horse to stop, despite its discomfort, but she did guide him around the edge of the circle rather than forcing him to cross directly through. She spied the now familiar break in the tree-line and aimed directly for it.

They were forced to slow their pace a little as the trees and underbrush all pushed in closer around them. Dagur did his best to fend off low hanging branches as they rode, though they all got swatted by greenery at least once.

"Almost there now," Merida declared as she noted a few familiar trees, straightening in the saddle in anticipation of their arrival. Dagur unconsciously mirrored her, hopeful that they had truly reached their destination.

The princess' hopeful mien dropped off almost immediately when they reached the little clearing, though. Things were much as she had left them two years before, only far more overgrown. "Oh no," she groaned, then struggled to dismount, no easy feat with Dagur directly behind her.

To make things easier, he slid off first, and she followed before he could so much as offer a hand. Visibly distressed, Merida rushed forward towards the shattered remains of the witch's cottage to search for some sign that might point to where its former occupant had gone.

Dagur followed her at a more cautious pace and let out a low whistle. "Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you blew the place up," he said, tone almost admiring as he pushed his way in amongst the wreckage. Merida didn't answer him, just cast about with increasing desperation for any hint at all.

He helped where he could, but as his friend grew more and more frenzied, Dagur grabbed the princess up and dragged her from the mess before she could hurt herself.

"Let me go!" she cried, thrashing in his arms to no avail. She might as well have been bound by iron bars.

"Mer, calm down," Dagur insisted as he held her. "You won't do anyone any good if you bring a wall down on yourself," he said firmly. She fought a moment longer, seemingly for the principle of the thing, and then sagged helplessly in his grip, head bowed. Even though her back was pressed to his chest, and her wild mane of hair completely hid her face from view, the viking knew his friend was crying. "Come on, it's not like you to give up, Mer," he murmured as he put her back on her feet and turned her gently about to face him.

The princess kept her head down so he couldn't see her face, but when she leaned in and dropped her brow to rest on his shoulder, he could feel her tears soak the collar of his shirt, leaving it warm and wet against his skin. She sniffled a little in that small way she had when she was upset but didn't want anyone to know it.

"It'll be alright," he reassured her as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and used his other hand to stroke her hair as soothingly as he could manage. He wasn't sure _how_ things were going to be alright, but he felt it was important to say the words all the same. "We'll figure something out." he added, sounding as confident as possible.

He felt her nod, then shift so she could grab something out of her belt pouch. It proved to be a handkerchief, which she used to wipe at her face and nose before finally allowing herself to look at him. Merida's eyes were only a little red by that point, and she took a breath to steady herself further.

"Alright," she said. "Let's check the edge of the clearing. Maybe… maybe the witch left a sign there somewhere."

"On it, your highness," Dagur readily agreed with a sharp salute that did its job in drawing a chuckle from the princess.

They split up, and carefully made their way around the edge of the clearing until they met up on the opposite side once more. Having found nothing, they pushed deeper into the treeline, until, as the sun gradually drifted past high noon, they were forced to admit that the witch had left no hint of where she had gone, assuming she had ever returned in the first place.

Neither of them said much as they mounted up once more and headed back the way they had come, their minds too weighed down with their failure and a new, uncertain future without the help they had so hoped for.

Both were so wrapped up in their own thoughts that they barely noticed when the reached the stones again. In fact, they likely wouldn't have noticed anything until they got home had Angus not come to an abrupt stop halfway through the clearing to stare fixedly at the point in the center of the circle.

"Angus," Merida chided with a sigh as she finally turned her attention from her introspective thoughts. When she looked around, though, she froze. "Dagur!" she hissed, and grabbed reflexively at his knee to get his attention. "Dagur, look!"

The viking gave a start and looked up to see the princess pointing towards the stone circle. When he followed her arm with his eyes, he too, froze at what he saw waiting for them.

It was a wisp.

"Well come on, follow it!" he said and grabbed Angus's reigns himself to turn the horse head-on towards the circle. The creature balked unhappily beneath them, but leaped forward when both Dagur _and_ Merida's heels met its ribs simultaneously, spurring him on against his will.

"Come on, boy! Come on!" Merida encouraged her steed as she reclaimed the reins from her friend and gave the horse its head, allowing Angus to break into a canter, and then a gallop.

Dagur held on for dear life, deciding that riding a horse was not at _all_ like riding a dragon. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead over Merida's shoulder as they charged past one wisp, and made a bee-line for the next one that appeared in the distance. For the first time since they'd left the clearing, they both allowed themselves to hope that their mission might not be a failure after all.

After awhile, though, Angus' breath became labored with the effort of running over the rough terrain, and they were forced to slow and dismount to give the horse a break. Wherever the wisps were leading them, apparently it was a good deal further away than the last time they'd tracked them to the cliffs overlooking the inlet.

Though she was impatient to get where they were going, Merida knew better than to push her horse too hard. She could see the way Dagur's gaze kept darting upward to take note of the sun's position overhead, and then back to her and Angus. He never questioned her decision, though, which she appreciated. After all, he might be an expert when it came to dragons, but _she_ was the one who knew about horses.

"We've got a decision to make," the viking offered eventually as they came to a stream and Merida lead Angus to drink, careful not to let the stallion overdo it and make himself sick. She glanced over at Dagur, watching as he crouched beside the water and splashed his face to cool himself. The air there in the depths of the forest was warm and close, despite it still being spring. They had been heading steadily away from the ocean, though, and while their surroundings were rich with life, the air among the massive trees was almost stagnant. Dagur wiped his face dry on his sleeve, then glanced upwards again before saying, "If we turn back now, we'll probably still be able to make it before dark. If we keep on, though..." He turned his attention across the water to where the soft, blue light of a wisp waited for them, perfectly still, as though it understood their need for a temporary break.

"We have to keep going," Merida answered him without hesitation. "We've no idea if the wisps will be here again tomorrow, we have to go _now,_ or it could all be for naught."

The lopsided smile on her friend's face told the princess that he'd expected her answer, and agreed with her. "Yes, ma'am," he said lightly as he pulled the water bottle from his pack and refilled it, then beckoned for Merida to toss him hers. She did so, and he filled that too. "Think he'll be okay to ride now?" Dagur asked with a nod to Angus.

Merida swept her hand across her faithful steed's flank and nodded. "Aye. We'll take it slower now, though, since we've no idea how far we've got to go yet."

They mounted up and set off again, and after a little urging, Angus carried them across the stream and towards the next wisp. It was lucky for them that the little spirits glowed in the quickly deepening murk of the forest or they might never have found their way. The longer they rode, the taller the trees became, the deeper their shadows, and the more distant their canopies.

It was obvious that they had come to a very old section of the forest now, and _things_ stirred in the shadows, prompting Dagur to unsheath his sword in anticipation of an attack. More than once, they heard wolves in the distance, but nothing ventured into the circle of pale blue light the wisps cast about them like a halo. Both adventurers wondered silently if they would have been so lucky had the spirits not been guiding them.

Sometime in the late afternoon, they reached the base of a wych elm of truly colossal proportions. Merida gaped at it, having never seen one so large in her life, and even Dagur let out a low whistle of admiration. He leaned back in the saddle a little in an attempt to make out the canopy far above them, which surpassed and shaded those of the lesser trees around it. It would have taken at least five men fingertip-to-fingertip to wrap around its trunk.

Neither of them doubted they had reached the heart of the forest.

The wisps were gone, leaving them in the growing dark without so much as a light between them. Dagur and Merida shared a brief look, then dismounted and headed directly for the tree, Angus trailing after them.

The bark of the tree was ancient, craggy, and covered in soft green moss like velvet under Merida's fingers as she trailed them along the trunk. Its texture changed, though, and suddenly the princess realized that the wood under her hand wasn't bark at all, but the polished frame of a small, round door.

"Dagur!" she called, making the viking turn from his careful examination of the forest around them. He hadn't been able to shake the sensation of being watched for the last hour, and the feeling had only intensified the closer they had come to this place.

When he saw what the princess had found, though, relief washed through him, and was quickly followed by anticipation. "Well? Knock!"

Merida nodded, and lifted a hand to do so. She hesitated, though, knowing full well how much rode on what happened next. After a moment, she took a breath and rapped sharply on the door three times. It seemed to her that the sound of it echoed unnaturally through the woods around them, and both of them held their breath in anticipation of an answer.

After a minute, though, none came, and Merida glanced nervously at Dagur. The man frowned a little then reached out himself, and instead of giving the door a polite rap like the princess had, he pounded on it with his fist. Merida hissed at him to stop making so much noise, but he ignored her and kept at it until, finally, the door swung open and he nearly punched a hunched, little old woman in the face.

"What?! What do you want?!" she squawked furiously and glared at them both, particularly at Dagur's fist, which hovered scant inches from her hooked nose.

"We need your help," Merida said, words coming out in a rush as her friend hastily withdrew his hand from the old woman's face as though he had been burned.

The witch turned from glaring up at Dagur, to look at the princess. "Oh no," she said, " _not you again,_ " then proceeded to slam the door in both their faces. Luckily, Dagur was ready and threw out both hands to stop her, grunting in effort to keep her from closing the door. The old biddy was quite a lot stronger than she looked. "I won't do it!" the witch shrieked from the other side of the door.

"Please!" Merida begged as she threw her own weight in, and helped turn the tide. "It's not like last time, I swear," the princess begged. "If you don't help us, Dunbroch...my family! Everyone will die!" she cried, voice agonized but fierce in her determination not to be turned away now that they had finally found who they were looking for.

The witch actually hesitated a little, giving the pair the opening they needed to shove their way inside, bowling the old woman over in the process. "Drat!" she hissed unhappily as she collected herself and glared at the two young people who now stood in her home looking breathless but triumphant. "I don't know _why_ I even answer the bloody door anymore," she grumbled fiercely as she stumped away across her workshop.

Much as the witch's previous home had been, Merida noted that this one too was full of wood carvings. The products the princess had paid for with her mother's pendant had shown up out of the blue a week after Mor'Du had been slain two years before, and even now decorated every nook of the castle. This time, though, there wasn't a single bear in sight.

Everywhere they looked was another dragon.

"This is a Gronkle!" Dagur exclaimed as he picked up a cunningly carved mug and turned it this way and that in the light of the large fire that burning in the distant fireplace. "Hey, that clock has Smokewings for the hours," he continued excitedly when a clock hanging on the wall caught his eye, making him smile as he put the mug down again.

"Like 'em, do you?" the witch said with a gleam in her beady eyes as she advanced on the viking. "I'll give you a discount if you buy 'em both. I'll even throw in this handsome Monstrous Nightmare plate," she continued as she offered up a large plate that did indeed sport Nightmares carved along its edges. She opened her mouth to say more, but before she could, a puzzled expression crossed her weathered features. "Wait just a moment now," she muttered and tossed aside the plate as she advanced on Dagur with startling speed.

The viking took a sharp step back in his surprise at her sudden change in demeanor, but it did no good. Somehow, she was faster than him, and before he could so much as look around, the old woman was behind him, prodding at his armor, examining his sword, and most alarming of all, grabbed him by the strap of his chest plate and hauled him down to her level and stared him right in the eye. Dagur could only blink in confusion, somehow unable to object to her rough handling of his person as he met her large, dark eyes with his own.

"Hey," Merida began, frowning at the witch as she moved to intervene.

The old woman threw her head back and laughed, then released her hold on Dagur, allowing him to right himself. "By the old ones you're a long ways from home, aren't you lad?!"

Merida and Dagur shared a startled look, and the latter asked, "How did you know?" After all, with coloration being what it was, the viking actually blended in with the locals quite well. Hell, at this point, he was even wearing a kilt.

The witch just clucked her tongue irritably. "You come all this way looking for me and think I don't know my business well enough to spot a viking when I see one?" She raised an eyebrow at the both of them, but didn't let them get a word in edgewise before pushing on. "Don't suppose you've come to take all these dragons of yours back to where they came from, hmm?"

Dagur looked surprised, something that was becoming an uncomfortably common occurrence in this old woman's company. "Could I?" he asked at the same time Merida asked, "Could he?"

The elderly woman eyed him up and down for a moment, before heaving a sigh and answering, "No. No, I don't think you could."

Though disappointed by the answer, Merida said, "Listen, the dragons are why we're here. You're our only hope. There's this man, you see-"

"Viggo Grimborn," Dagur supplied helpfully as the witch turned from them and began righting various carvings that had been knocked down when they'd burst in through the door.

"Right, Viggo Grimborn. He's dead set on getting castle Dunbroch for himself, and we don't know what to do," Merida explained. "At this point, we'll either be driven from our home, or die defending it against the dragons he's got at his beck and call." The witch paused in her busy work, which encouraged the princess to continue. " _Please,_ we don't know what else to do. If you can't help us..."

"What's he want it for?" the witch asked as she turned and glanced over her shoulder at the pair of them with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Merida asked, glancing from the old woman to Dagur in her confusion. The viking was just as baffled, though, and could only shrug.

"The castle," the witch clarified irritably and began to advance on Merida. "What's he want it for?"

"I-I don't know," Merida stammered, stepping back until she suddenly found her back pressed to the door through which they had just entered. "I don't think Dad ever thought to ask," she said, tone a little scathing as she glared down at the witch in turn. "But he tried to buy it off us like it was some...some farm! Dad kicked him out, obviously, and that's when the attacks began. Doaty bastard said he'd keep comin' back every night until we surrendered! "

Dagur arched his brow at the princess from where he stood a little ways behind the witch, who was now practically toe-to-toe with Merida. She appeared to be searching the younger woman's eyes for something, though neither of them could begin to guess what. Eventually, the witch backed off and crossed the room to the fireplace where she picked up the iron poker and stabbed thoughtfully at the wood burning there. Viking and Princess shared another baffled look, and cautiously followed after her.

Dagur hadn't registered the fact at first, but now that he looked around the cluttered space, the man realized there was no way that even a tree as large as the Wych Elm at the heart of the forest should have been able to hold it. In fact, if the door on the far side of the room was anything to go by, there were even more rooms than that one as yet unexplored. The viking decided not to try and figure out just how the witch's home was bigger on the inside for the time being. They had more immediate concerns, after all.

"I can't help you with the dragons," the witch said finally as she set aside the poker.

"But," Merida began to object, expression heartbroken at this news.

The old woman shook her head sharply. "I wish I could, dearie, I dearly wish I could," she said with a sigh as she made an absent motion that brought a chair trundling over towards her from the side of the room. Her guests were surprised when similar seats snuck up behind them and bumped into the back of their knees, making them sit down reflexively. "I'm not a fool, I know that the fall of Dunbroch would be disastrous for _everyone,_ not just your clan." A light snort escaped her as she added quietly, "I know far better than _you_ what would happen..."

"What would happen?" Merida asked, morbid curiosity getting the best of her as she leaned forward in her seat.

The witch just shook herself and seemed to ignore the question, though. Instead, she continued, "Dragons are magical creatures at heart; power such as mine won't touch them."

"That's news to me," Dagur said suspiciously.

"Does a fish understand what water is?" the witch asked with an exasperated wave of a hand. "To your people, dragons are normal, and the lack of them is strange. Here in this land, they were little more than myth until that _man_ dragged them from their homes and set them on our people."

Dagur sat back in his chair a little, and thought about this. The witch did have a point. To him, no dragons in the sky was like having no fish in the sea, or whatever it was her allegory had morphed into. For vikings, they were just another kind of animal, but to the Scots, they were creatures of legend...Maybe they really were magical in some way, and Dagur simply couldn't see the forest for the trees.

"That's great, but what are we supposed to _do,_ " Merida asked, despairing now as she slouched back in her chair and nibbled absently at her bottom lip. "I don't know what it is Viggo wants with Dunbroch, but it can't just be that he wants a castle of his own, right? There's got to be some awful reason."

Dagur nodded his agreement at this. Viggo had always been clever, and what was more, he'd seen his people build more formidable structures than Dunbroch's castle walls. The other viking wouldn't waste valuable resources (dragons, in this case) trying to take what he could simply build himself on some untouched bit of land down the coast where no one would notice until it was too late. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly as he absently remarked, "I wish Hiccup were here."

"Would he be able to help?" the witch asked.

Dagur dropped his hand and blinked at her. "Well, yeah. He's..." the viking chuckled, knowing how much Hiccup disliked the title, no matter how deserved it was, "He's the Dragon Master, rider of the infamous Nightfury, leader of the Dragon Riders of Berk."

Grasping at straws, Merida brightened fractionally as she asked, "Could you bring him here? You might not be able to help, but if anyone could drive off that nyaff, Viggo, surely it'd be him!" she looked hopefully at Dagur, then back to the witch.

The old woman in question looked at the young viking before her with a speculative air. There was something in her eyes that told Dagur she wasn't quite looking _at_ him, so much as through him. Not in a way that suggesting she were ignoring him, though, more like she could see things about him he hadn't told her.

"So far…" she muttered, more to herself than either of the young people she shared the room with. "Over such a distance I could transport one person, and one person only."

Merida's hopeful expression faltered at this news, and she frowned as she looked questioningly at Dagur. ' _Would it be enough?'_ her eyes asked him wordlessly.

The viking turned the thought over in his head, but he knew the outlook was not a good one. No doubt Hiccup _would_ be able to help, but without the other riders, let alone without even Toothless, would it be enough?

Could one man make that much of a difference?

The princess saw the hesitation in his eyes, and she sagged, knowing that he too doubted how much of a difference even Hiccup, with all his skills, could make in their dire situation. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to. A dire, heavy silence settled over the three of them, and for a time, the crackle of the fire was the only sound that reached their ears.

Gradually, though, a thought grew at the back of Merida's mind, which gradually turned into an idea, and became a new hope. "Oh," she said, sitting up straight, blue eyes wide as she flapped her hands at the witch and her best friend. "Oh, oh, _oh!_ "

"What?" Dagur asked, brightening at the princess' sudden shift in mood. The witch, too, shot her a curious look as he asked again, "What is it?"

"Oh Dagur!" Merida crowed as she sprang to her feet, then grabbed her friend's hands in hers and pulled him up out of his seat. She spun about the room, dragging the man with her as she exclaimed, "Dagur, we don't have to bring Hiccup to us, we can send _you_ to Hiccup!"

The viking spent a confused moment spinning hand in hand with the princess of Dunbroch, until her full meaning struck him like a bolt from on high. "OH!" he exclaimed, then broke out into joyful laughter as he picked Merida up by the waist and spun her about in earnest. "Mer you're a genius!" he said as he set her back on her feet.

"You better believe I am!" the princess said. "The witch sends you to Hiccup, you talk him into helping us, then fly back with him and all the help he can spare. Together, we drive out that numpty Viggo, and we live happily ever after without him breathing down our necks!"

The witch grinned up at them from where she too had leaped up out of her seat. Her attention focused on Dagur, though, as his smile faltered. "What is it, lad?" she asked.

The viking grimaced when he saw the look of worry return to his best friend's face. "I don't..." he sighed heavily and dragged his hand down his face before continuing. "Assuming the witch can send me back by magic...I still have no idea where _here_ is in relation to Berk." Merida heaved a groan of frustration at this news, though she did not blame her friend for his ignorance. After all, she well knew the tale of how he had come to wash up on the shores of Scotland. "Do you know?" he asked the witch hopefully.

Unfortunately, the old woman grimaced and shook her head. "I know...generalities, but the way one travels by magic and how one travels on the slow road...those are two different things."

"It's too far to fly, too," the viking added. "Though, sailing is always an option if we just know where we're going. Give me a point to navigate by, and there's nowhere I can't go," he said.

"A point to navigate by..." the witch murmured to herself, "Like a guiding star," she added more loudly.

"Right, yes!" Dagur said. "I've always known that 'here' is far South of the Archipelago, but since I wasn't conscious most of the way here, I'm not sure of more than that. You have to know where you came from to be able to find your way back there," he admitted with a sigh.

The witch tapped her chin thoughtfully, then said, "With that, at least, I believe I can help."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Do please remember to drop a review if you enjoyed and tell me what your favorite part was! Those kinds of comments really make my day and help me keep writing!


	14. A World Away

**AN:** Whoops, two days late! So sorry for the delay. I've had...personal stuff going on the last few days.

We are rapidly catching up to the end of the pre-written chapters I've god, oh lord. Enjoy a few more regularly scheduled updates, cuz after that they'll be more infrequent since I'll have to actually, you know, _write them._ -sweats-

Make sure to leave a review if you enjoy! Honestly, I always appreciate them, but I'd appreciate them even more than usual today. The personal stuff that kept me from updating was pretty awful and I could use the pick-me-up...

Also! Just a heads up, there's some blood in this chapter!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Fourteen: A World Away

"Yes!" Merida agreed readily, leaping on the witch's offer of help like she'd found water in a desert.

"But it won't be free," the old woman warned.

"It's your life on the line too, and you want to charge us?!" the princess demanded incredulously. "Of all the-"

"The price isn't mine," the witch cut her off sharply, making Merida stop mid-rant and look at the old woman suspiciously. "Magic _always_ has a cost," the witch explained seriously. "The boy will need to see his way back to you," she continued, tone heavy with meeting as she met the princess' eyes with her own.

"What is it you want?" Dagur asked warily and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked between his friend and the witch.

Merida, however, seemed to know precisely what the old woman meant. "Oh," she said quietly, fingers hovering just below her right eye. "He needs to _see,_ so the spell needs-"

"Your _eye_?!" Dagur exclaimed, horrified as her meaning sank in. "Absolutely not!" he shouted at the same time she declared, "I'll do it!"

Merida turned and glared at her friend, fists on her hips as she said, "Don't bother arguing with me, Dagur. It's my price to pay, and pay it I will."

The viking watched his friend lift her chin, lips set in a stubborn line as she stared him down. He knew it was a battle he could never win once she got that look in her eyes, but it was one he had to fight regardless. "Mer, I can't let you make that sacrifice," he said, tone imploring and chiding by turns. "Your parents trusted me to protect you." He rounded on the witch, then and asked, "There has to be something else, anything. I'll pay whatever it takes. Take anything you want from me, but leave Mer be!"

The old woman never got a chance to answer, though, as the princess inserted herself between them, looking more furious than ever. She tossed her long red hair to get a few stray curls out of her face so she could hit Dagur with the full, uninterrupted weight of her gaze. "Oh no you don't," she snapped. "You don't get to bargain around me, Dagur." The princess jabbed him hard in the shoulder with one finger as she advanced on him, making him step back reflexively. "I am the Princess of Dunbroch, and if my eye is all it will cost to bring us help in our darkest hour, then I will _gladly_ make that sacrifice." The viking tried to open his mouth to object, but she kept right on coming, well and truly angry at his interference on her behalf. "Something as simple as my eye is not more important than the well being of my, no-" here, she reached out and grabbed him by the swath of plaid fabric that bisected her friend's chest, and gave him a hard shake, " _our_ people, Dagur. You'll not pay this price for me because I need you in one piece to bring Dunbroch the aid it needs to save our people from _extinction._ "

Dagur's back hit the wall and knocked a wooden Whispering Death mask to the floor with a clatter. As he stared down at the princess, he felt as though she had somehow managed to pin him in place with the weight of her finger alone, though he knew it was that fierce look in her blue eyes that truly held him. Finally, his shoulders sagged and he lowered his eyes to the floor in defeat.

Merida saw his resolve crumble, and stepped back, expression immediately softening. She reached out to him again, but this time it was to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're only trying to protect me, Dagur," the princess said with a rueful smile. "But sometimes...sometimes you just have to take a blow for the sake of something greater than yourself, right?"

The viking's eyes met hers once more, and he knew instinctively that she was alluding to his own sacrifice for the sake of his sister and the rest of the Riders. He sighed, unable to argue the point, and offered a tired smile of his own to prove he had taken no offense at her calling him to task.

The princess gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, then turned to find the witch. The old woman was already working over a cauldron in the center of the room that Dagur would swear hadn't been there a moment before. In fact, now that he looked around, he realized they weren't in the same room at all. Warm wooden walls and floors had been replaced by chill, dark stone, lit by the eerie green fire that burned at the cauldron's base.

"When did we-" he began, confused and a little alarmed.

"We didn't even have to use the door," Merida murmured, sounding impressed as she stepped over to the witch as she worked, Dagur following after.

"Set up a new spatial transition spell. Saves me going outside between rooms." the witch remarked as she darted here and there with surprising nimbleness. She grabbed bundles of strange herbs from the low rafters of the roof overhead, a peculiar twisting shell from a drawer, a little bowl of what appeared to be ash, and another jar of what looked suspiciously like eyes.

While the old woman worked, Merida reached out and slipped her hand into Dagur's. It was clammy, and trembled a little in his own warm, steady one, but he refused to do her the disservice of calling attention to that fact. Instead, he just gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance while they waited.

As they watched, the boiling, smokey contents of the cauldron shifted colors nauseatingly before their eyes. The witch disappeared into the shadows on the opposite side of the room as they became distracted watching the bubbling concoction, only to reappear behind them, quiet as a cat.

"Princess," the old woman said, startling both young people into looking around at her.

There was a flash of mirror-bright silver as the witch brought a dagger out from beneath her robes and slashed upward with its blade. Merida screamed horribly and staggered backwards into Dagur, one hand clasped over her right eye. Blood spilled between her pale fingers as the viking caught her.

"Mer!" he cried, horror and shock twisting his heart as he stared down at her in disbelief while the princess clutched frantically at her eye and fought back agonized sobs. Dagur's vision went red as he pushed Merida behind him and drew his sword in one fluid movement, then lunged towards the witch with righteous fury burning bright and hot in his chest. He was brought up short as a crow squawked and dropped out of the shadowy rafters to fly directly at the viking's face, startling Dagur into retreating, one arm thrown up to protect his own eyes.

"D-Dagur," Merida managed to gasp out as she reached for his arm and clutched at his sleeve to keep him from moving to attack again. "Dagur it's alright. This is...this is what I agreed to. Leave that scabby bird alone."

The viking glanced back at her, back towards the crow, which seemed content to retreat so long as its mistress wasn't in danger, then to Merida once more. Finally, adrenaline subsiding some, the man sheathed his sword and turned to his friend. She was pale as death from the pain, and possibly blood loss, but the viking refused to let that phase him. He'd seen worse, so much worse, in the past. Somehow, though, the fact that it was _Merida_ bleeding made him really question that, though. Despite the clamour of protective, vengeful instincts in his heart and mind, Dagur took the princess gently by the shoulders and pushed her into the nearest chair before the shock caught up with her.

"Keep pressure on it," he told her, voice much calmer than he felt. He looked around for something to staunch the bleeding, and saw the witch standing over the cauldron with the dagger still coated in Merida's own blood. It stood out, stark and crimson against the polished blade as the old woman waved it over the brew three times and murmured something under her breath. Then, she dipped it in and stirred the boiling morass with the blade, turning it blue, and then a bright, blinding white.

The room around them trembled as the light intensified. The witch dropped a protective metal mask over her face, and Dagur turned sharply, putting his back to the cauldron as he dragged Merida in close against his chest. The explosion that followed rocked them all, and drove the air briefly from the viking's lungs.

"Dagur, I can't breathe," Merida wheezed against his collarbone, making the man open eyes that he hadn't even realized he'd closed.

"Sorry," he said, and released his friend. As he looked down at her, though, he blinked in surprise. While her hand was still pressed tight over her right eye, the blood that had stained her face and fingers was gone. Brow furrowed, he reached up and gently pulled Merida's hand away from her face, despite her initial protests.

"What is it?" Merida asked, perturbed by the look her friend was giving her. She'd known since the witch's blade had bit into her tender flesh that her eye was ruined, and the pain had made her want to vomit. Now, though, she realized, the pain was gone, and while she knew her eye was open, her right periphery was a dark void.

"Er-" Dagur began, then glanced around the room. He spotted a small, silver hand mirror on a nearby table, no doubt used for enchanting purposes by the witch, and brought it back to his friend. He held it up before her, and the woman stared in surprise and what she saw there.

The wound, only freshly inflicted, was fully healed. A scar ran from the princess' cheek, over her eyelid, and up through her eyebrow, though the eye itself was blessedly intact. Strangest of all was the iris; once a bright shade of blue with just a hint of green, it had been completely drained of color, leaving it pale and silver-gray in color.

Merida took a moment to absorb all of this, turning this way and that to not only look at herself, but to accustom herself to her new, limited field of vision. There was a brief, terrible moment when the princess feared she might cry for the loss, but one look up at the pained expression in Dagur's own eyes immediately snuffed out the compulsion. She had no doubt that the man, despite this having been her own choice, would blame himself. Crying would only make things worse for him. Not only did she want to save him the pain, she needed him clear thinking and focused for what was coming next.

Merida smiled and gently pushed aside the mirror, allowing her hand to linger a moment, trying to tell him that she was alright without actually having to say the words aloud. As their eyes met, Dagur searched her gaze, and seemed to come to a decision of his own. He wouldn't obsess over the decision Merida had been forced to make for the sake of her people, and him. It would only pain her.

"Not gonna lie, you look pretty badass," he said and grinned, then pushed himself to his feet and offered her a hand up.

Relieved, Merida threw her head back and laughed, then accepted his assistance. "Well, your scars looked so good, I just had to have one of my own," she replied lightly.

Dagur snorted and set aside the hand mirror, then looked to the witch, unable to prevent his eyes narrowing at her a little.

"Oh don't give me that, lad," the old woman scoffed as she fetched out a pair of long tongs and dipped them into the now dark cauldron. "I find that people tend to get squeamish and flinchy when they know what's coming."

"Gee, I wonder why," the man drawled, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Merida. He just made a face at the young woman, then turned his attention back to the cauldron and watched as the witch used the tongs to pull something smooth and round from its depths.

"One homing spell, ready to go," the old woman said with a satisfied tone as she plopped the newly minted magical object onto her worktable. Merida and Dagur both drew close to see it, and watched as the coating of dark, magical goop hissed and evaporated, leaving behind a curious stone.

It was perfectly smooth and glassy, and fit in the palm of Dagur's hand when he picked it up for closer inspection. It was warm to the touch, and heavier than it appeared. Most striking of all, though, was its color, which matched Merida's remaining eye perfectly.

"How does it work?" the viking asked curiously as he held the stone up beside Merida's face, comparing it to the color of her left eye.

The witch passed Dagur a bit of leather cord, as though she had read his mind, and explained while he carefully fashioned it into a necklace so he would not lose the stone. "Oh it's easy enough," she said. "Just hold it in one hand and think about your princess, then you'll simply...know what direction she is in."

"Well go on," Merida said when Dagur had knotted off the end of the leather cord and slipped it on over his head. "Give it a go!"

"But you're right here," he said with a chuckle as he turned the stone this way and that in his calloused fingers, almost entranced by its gently shifting depths.

The princess rolled her eyes and said, "Well, turn around then." Despite his objection, she grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him about until his broad back was to her.

"Fine, fine," he huffed lightly, then tightened his hand around the stone, closed his eyes, and thought of Merida. The color of her hair always came first, followed by her mischievous smile and bright eyes. Well, 'eye' now he supposed. It'd take awhile for his mental image of her to catch up to the new truth of her. To Dagur's surprise, he _did_ feel something. Some indefinable presence just below his breastbone tugged behind and to his left.

Merida grinned broadly when, despite the fact that she had moved quite stealthily away to the far corner of the room (so stealthily, in fact, she had to wonder if maybe the witch hadn't helped in some way), Dagur turned and looked directly at her, clearly surprised to realize she had moved.

"I trust you're satisfied, then?" The witch asked with some amusement as the pair of young people came together once more. When they shared a look, then nodded, the old woman bobbed her head in turn. "Good. That's the hard bit out of the way at least. Just give me a moment to get the door ready. Needs a little extra help when you're going so far."

While the witch fetched a stick of charcoal and a stool so she could begin scrawling on the arched frame of her door, Dagur felt his heart jump in his chest. This was it, he was really going back after all these years. Thoughts of the sort of reception he might expect to receive plagued the man's thoughts as he lapsed into silence.

Beside him, Merida watched her friend closely, taking in all the subtle shifts in features she had long since memorized. The loss of an eye, while strange and uncomfortable, hadn't robbed the woman of her ability to read the viking at least.

"They'll be glad to see you," she said finally when Dagur's expression threatened to drop into an outright frown. He jumped a little and looked almost guilty when he glanced down at her and tried to smile for her sake.

"Yeah," he replied, though his tone was such that it was clear he doubted her. She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm where he'd crossed it over his chest in an attempt to comfort him. Absently, he patted it with his own, still distracted by whatever thoughts plagued him. After a moment he asked, "What if...what if something happened while I was away?"

The viking met her eyes again, and she could see the worry in them. Just below that surface, though, there lurked a naked fear that made Merida bite down on her lower lip, brow furrowed as she met his gaze. "I..." she began, then hesitated, unsure of how she could possibly reassure him. He had every reason to be afraid, after all. From what she had heard, vikings lead dangerous lives; it was entirely possible that his sister had died in his absence. Worse for their cause, it was entirely possible that Hiccup had done the same.

In the end, all she could do was shift her hold from his arm to his hand, then give it a reassuring squeeze, which he returned. Judging by the weak, though genuine smile he gave her, he appreciated not only the gesture, but her unwillingness to sugar coat things for him.

"Done!" the witch declared, startling them both. She stood before the still closed door, admiring her handiwork as she tossed aside her nearly depleted stick of charcoal. The once bare doorframe had been covered in a series of complicated, and completely foreign runes. Merida glanced up to Dagur to see if they made any sort of sense to him, but he looked just as clueless as she.

"So, how does it work?" Dagur asked and stepped forward.

"Just open it like so, and away you go!" the old woman declared as she grabbed the doorknob, and pulled it open. Rather than the forest clearing they had entered through, though, the other side of the door now opened onto a deep darkness that the light of the fire behind them could not begin to penetrate.

Dagur let out a low whistle that almost seemed to echo in the presence of that impossible door. Merida stepped closer and peered in, though this made no difference at all in her ability to see any deeper into the murk. "Crivens... feels a world away," she murmured with quiet awe, not quite daring to stick her hand through the opening.

"It very nearly is," the witch remarked as she leaned around the door, seeming just as curious.

For a moment, they all stood in thoughtful contemplation of the darkness. Then, Dagur gave himself a shake and said, "Alright, might as well get a move on," and resettled his small pack on his back, then carefully tucked his charmed pendant under the collar of his shirt.

Merida nodded her agreement, though now that the moment had finally come, she felt herself plagued by worrying second thoughts. However, she quickly pushed them aside, knowing full well that they had no other option at this point. They'd come this far, it'd be the worst sort of foolishness to turn back now.

The princess found herself subject to that very particular brand of intensity that was all Dagur's attention focused fully on her as he spoke. "You be careful," he said, voice low and ardent. He pulled her in for a tight hug, which she returned willingly. When she buried her face in his shoulder, suddenly terrified at the idea that he might never return, he tilted his head and murmured quietly in her ear, "I'll be back soon, little sister, don't you fear."

"You promise?" Merida asked, hating how her voice shook when she said the words. Still, she clung to him like a lifeline, fingers twining in the soft fabric of his kilt where it crossed his strong, broad back.

She felt the rough stubble of his chin against her cheek as a low chuckle rumbled up through his chest while his arms tightened around her a little more. "I promise," he said, quiet but emphatic. Merida didn't immediately release him, but he felt her nod against him, so he held her a little longer, swaying side-to-side in a gentle rocking motion.

After a minute, Merida cleared her throat and released her hold on her best friend. "Alright then. I'll be holding you to it, I hope you know," she said with a sniff that was meant to sound haughty, but just came off sounding tearful (because it was). "Now get out of here, you numpty. The sooner you go, the sooner you get back," she added and pushed him gently towards the door, face still flush with emotion.

Dagur nodded, and the witch dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Och, what a sweet pair you are," she said, ignoring the awkward expressions that suddenly overcame the young peoples' faces when they realized their emotional exchange had been so closely observed.

"Right, well," Dagur said, clearing his own throat now as he stepped towards the door. "I'll just-"

"Wait!" the witch exclaimed, startling both of them. She bolted from the room, leaving Dagur and Merida to share mystified looks. The old woman returned a moment later in the wake of a loud crash, as though a pile of...something had been knocked over in her quest for the thing she dragged behind her now. "Take this, you'll need it," she said firmly as she offered a sword up to Dagur.

"I've already got one, thanks," the man said with a curious frown as he patted the hilt of his familiar blade.

The witch only shook her head sharply, and snapped the fingers of her right hand. To the viking's surprise, his sword belt undid itself, and his sword flew off to hover just out of reach. "Hey!" he cried, trying to snatch at it, only to have the blade dance away from his fingertips.

"Just trust me, lad, you're going to need this one more than that thing," the witch said firmly as the new sword smoothly insinuated itself onto Dagur's belt, and the lot did itself back up. He tried to object and remove it again, but the old woman was on him now, shoving him towards the strange darkness that waited just outside the door with surprising strength. "Now get a move on! That pathway won't stick around all day, you know!" she commanded.

Dagur spun as he toppled through the door, allowing him one last look at Merida's startled features. They reached for one another on instinct, and though their fingertips brushed, Dagur felt himself torn away by a mighty force as soon as his foot crossed the threshold.

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 **AN:** Thanks so much for reading! Man, I really would have sworn this chapter was longer... Funny how things can _feel_ really long sometimes.

Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed, I love hearing what you guys think of the story so far. Especially your favorite parts! I find that so fascinating and inspiring!


	15. Yon Ill Wind

**AN:** Here we are at last, Dagur finally finds his way back to Berk! Make sure to drop a review letting me know what your favorite part was, I love reading them! They also help keep me writing, so hey, in your best interest, right?

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon**  
Chapter Fifteen: Yon Ill Wind

The storm that swept over Berk in the late afternoon was vicious even by their exaggerated standards. It seemed to blow in out of nowhere with an almost unnatural speed and intensity. In fact, Hiccup would have _sworn_ he'd seen the clouds pushing back against the prevailing winds over the island that came from the North. The storm itself came up from the Southwest, which was unusual for that time of year on top of all the other strangeness already accompanying the weather that day.

Things got so bad, in fact, that Hiccup sent everyone back to their homes from the great hall after Eret stumbled in from lookout duty, half frozen and wind tossed with warning that the storm only looked to be getting worse. Much worse.

"Come on, bud," Hiccup told Toothless once the last of the council had pushed their way out the door and headed home. They had been in the middle of debating the merits of rotating crops on one of the ancillary islands they used to grow Berk's much needed grain supply. Not the most thrilling point of discussion, but important all the same, and now they'd have to reschedule… Toothless butted at Hiccup's hip with his head, pulling the chief from thoughts of all the work he had yet to do. "Right, sorry," he said with a chuckle and ran one hand along the Nightfury's broad head before dragging on his gloves.

As Hiccup fetched his cloak from one of the hooks by the door, the man found himself glad that he'd decided to bring it after all. It hadn't been quite cold enough to _really_ merit it when he'd left this morning, but it certainly was now. It was an article of his own creation, and though he hated Drago and everything the madman had stood for, it was inspired in no small part by his dragonskin cloak. Hiccup, of course, could not even fathom going so far as to skin a dragon for the sake of clothing these days, even one that had died of natural causes, so he had fashioned his from scraps of hide shed yearly by the Night Terrors that still acted as sentries at Dragon's Edge. If gathered fresh and treated with a special oil of he and Gobber's devising, the skin would remain supple and completely fireproof. Across the shoulders and upper back, Hiccup had added interlocking layers of black scales Toothless had dropped over the years. He was still adding to it, and the Nightfury had taken to bringing his companion any scales he shed for his project. The silver clasp at the cloak's neck had been a gift from his mother at his last birthday; a token she had had crafted in the shape of a Nightfury. Astrid had contributed a handsome, silvery pelt from a wolf she and Stormfly had hunted down after sheep had started going missing from one of Bucket's pens. It lay across his shoulders for an extra layer of warmth on days just such as these.

Hiccup went out one of the side doors to avoid having to wrestle the massive front entrance closed behind him in the face of the powerful wind that howled across the village. The cold air stole his breath as he stepped outside, and immediately froze the hairs in his nose when he tried to breathe in, a sure sign that the temperature was below zero.

"Gods bless," Hiccup gasped and hauled his fur hood up over his head, then pulled his woolen neck gaiter up to shield his nose and mouth. At his side, Toothless rumbled and shook himself, clearly finding the weather a little cold even for _his_ tastes. He nudged his human friend and the chief immediately climbed on his back. Once Hiccup was settled, he gave the Nightfury a pat on the shoulder and said, "Best keep to the ground, Toothless. If we take off, All Father only knows where we'll wind up in this storm."

The dragon rumbled his agreement, and set off up the path towards their home. Once they were out of the lee of the great hall, Hiccup immediately knew he'd made the right call having Toothless walk back. The wind howled with a ferocity that he didn't recall ever experiencing in all his years on Berk, prompting him to send up a silent prayer to Ran, goddess of storms and the drowned, that she wouldn't let Berk blow away all together. They were an uncommonly stubborn and resilient people, but at the end of the day they were still _mortal._

Toothless powered through, head down against the wind and wings clasped tight to his sides as his talons dug into the ice with every step. Hiccup, for his part, lay low across the Nightfury's back, feeling the wind drag at him as though they were flying, despite still being firmly on the ground. When they were halfway home, though, Toothless hesitated and let out a querying sort of chirp.

Wondering what had caught his dragon's attention, Hiccup glanced up and around them, eyes narrowed against the snow that lashed at him, making his eyes sting and water in the cold. "What-" he began to ask, then he too hesitated. There, where the path divided was a strange, pale light that was almost invisible against the snow. The pair had been aiming for the right branch of the path that lead up the hill towards their home, but the little light sat in the center of the left branch, which lead down towards one of the grazing fields.

"Is that a marsh light?" he muttered in disbelief. He'd seen them in the distance on his travels before, but never so close, and certainly never here on Berk. For one thing, they didn't even _have_ a marsh on Berk or any of its ancillary isles.

Beneath him, Toothless let out another low, curious rumble and moved closer. Just as he reached out one paw to bat at the thing, though, it vanished, startling the Nightfury. He growled, but stopped almost immediately when the marsh light reappeared a little ways up the path to the grazing field. Hiccup experienced an acute sense of unease when he realized that the apparition appeared to be beckoning them on, drawing them further away from the village and deeper into the storm.

Toothless leaped forward again, forcing Hiccup to make a grab for the saddle lest he fall right off with the suddenness of the motion. "Hey! Hang on, bud, I'm not sure about this," he said, only to be ignored as the Nightfury dashed off after the marsh light a third time. It repeated its little disappearing-reappearing act over and over again, never quite letting Toothless touch it before vanishing again, which only increased the dragon's need to chase it more.

Whatever it was, it was certainly clever.

Hiccup could only hope it wasn't ill-intentioned, or he and his dragon were both doomed to freeze to death on their own island. Seeing no other choice for the moment, he simply hunkered down and held on until they reached a broad, open space the chief realized was one of the grazing fields just below the village proper. Toothless dug in his talons and skid to a stop, dark chest heaving as he glanced this way and that, waiting for the marsh light to reappear.

After an entire minute's waiting, though, it did not. Toothless let out a dissatisfied little growl and plunged about in the deepening snow in search for it. Eventually, Hiccup said, "Come on, Toothless, whatever it was, I think it's lead us on a merry goose chase and left us out in the cold. Let's get back before we both freeze, huh?"

The Nightfury seemed displeased with this turn of events, but eventually acquiesced, apparently beginning to feel the chill himself. He turned and looked around, then hesitated as he apparently noticed the whiteout conditions that had blown in with the storm since they'd left the hall.

Hiccup gave him a reassuring pat and said, "How about a sonar blast, huh? There's a cliff around here somewhere, and knowing our luck, the wind's gone and blown the fence clean off the mountain."

Toothless nodded in agreement, then opened his mouth and let out the high pitched keen, accompanied by a brief blast of purple light. The dragon's ears twitched too and fro as he listened carefully to the way the sound bounced off their surroundings, and Hiccup hoped the thick snow wouldn't prove too much of an impediment.

To the chief's surprise, rather than heading off immediately, the Nightfury sat up a little, forcing him to hold on tight or be dropped on his back in the snow. Toothless appeared to be looking for something, large green eyes narrowed as he did. "What is it, bud?" Hiccup asked. "There something out there?" Maybe one of the yaks had gotten out of the barn and become lost in the snow?

Toothless let out a second blast, and seemed to zero in on whatever he had dimly picked up on a moment before. He dashed off, bounding through the snow with a purpose until, against all odds, they came across a mound of snow that stood out a little from what was around it. The dragon immediately set to digging it out, so Hiccup dismounted and did the same. It was too small to be a yak as he had first guessed, which meant it was either a very lost sheep, or…

A man.

One of Hiccup's gloved hands brushed away a final layer of snow and revealed a bit of leather armor, followed by a swath of patterned cloth, and then a pale face. "Oh gods," he muttered, and worked faster, fearing that they might already be too late and that the man they were quickly uncovering might have already succumbed to hypothermia.

"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Hiccup asked as Toothless set himself up as a windbreak, dark wings shielding both men from the worst of the storm. The chief slipped his arm up under the other man's neck and lifted him free of the snow, revealing a shock of red hair that stood out starkly against the dark hide of Hiccup's cloak and the surrounding snow. The man's thin lips were worryingly blue, prompting the chief to quickly brush the remaining clumps of clinging ice from his face. As he did so, familiar features were unveiled until Hiccup sat staring down into the face of Dagur the Deranged in utter disbelief.

"That's not..." he began, voice rough with confusion and shock as he used a trembling hand to turn Dagur's face this way and that for closer examination. There, across his right cheek were those familiar scars though, and that unmistakable jawline. "That's not possible," he managed to choke out.

Above him, Toothless let out an equally surprised little sound, then leaned down and snuffled at Dagur's face and hair. He crooned, then, and licked the redheaded man's face with his broad, flat tongue, leaving behind a sheen of slime. In response, Dagur stirred sluggishly in Hiccup's arm, startling a joyful, if disbelieving, laugh from the chief.

"Dagur!" he exclaimed as he hauled him up a little more firmly in his arms and shook the man gently .

The larger viking's eyes fought to open, and struggled to focus on Hiccup's face. Eventually, though, they managed, and he smile weakly. "Hey, b-brother," he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "L-long time no see."

Hiccup was smiling so broadly that he felt his face might split in two behind his neck gaiter. "No kidding," he said, unable to do anything but laugh again. "Should have known Viggo'd never be able to finish you off, huh, brother?" Hiccup asked as tears sprang to his eyes and he clutched Dagur tight against him, struggling to retain a hold on his broad, icy shoulders. He was so overjoyed to see the man he barely noticed the term of endearment escape him.

It didn't go unnoticed by Dagur, though. The redhead smiled and patted Hiccup weakly on the arm. "S'colder than I remember," he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut once more, his lashes like dark smudges of charcoal against his deathly pale skin.

Hiccup had to agree. Now that the initial shock was past, though, it occurred to the chief just how woefully underdressed the man in his arms was. Even before the storm had blown in it had been far too cold for such light clothing as Dagur was wearing. Where in Hel's name had the man even come from? Baffled, but more immediately concerned with his fellow rider's well being than the press of questions in his mind, Hiccup looked up at Toothless and said, "We need to go, Toothless, or he's not going to make it," in a grim tone.

The Nightfury nodded and immediately dropped to all fours, then crouched low in the snow to allow for the easiest possible access to his back. It was a struggle, but between himself and Toothless, Hiccup was able to get the unconscious Dagur onto the dragon's back, then climbed on behind him. Before they started off, though, Hiccup dragged his cloak up and around so it encompassed both him and the man in front of him. The chief had to adopt a sort of half crouch over the bulkier man as Toothless broke into a ground eating gallop up the icy path to keep them both on the dragon's back, but he managed.

By the time they finally arrived back home, Hiccup's legs and arms were burning with the effort, but he ignored them and dismounted so fast he nearly slipped on the ice slicked steps of his house. He managed to wrangle the door open, then gave it a sharp kick to send it wide. "Mom!" he shouted. "Mom, come quick!"

Valka burst into view at a run from one of the back rooms, and was so taken aback by what she saw that she actually froze midstep. Seeing her son struggling to get an unfamiliar man down from Toothless' back so they could all squeeze through the door brought her back around almost immediately though, and she actually vaulted the firepit in the center of the room to get to them that much sooner.

"What happened?" she asked as she helped ease the stranger down off Toothless' back, then grabbed his legs while her son took his arms, and hauled him over to the fire.

"Found him out in the pasture," Hiccup explained, grunting with effort as he carefully lowered Dagur to the ground while Toothless shut the door behind them, then bounded over to join the humans by the fire.

"Gods, what were you doing down there in this weather?" his mother chastised him, then let the subject drop as she noted what poor shape the stranger was in. "We need to get him out of these clothes," Valka said, then glanced up towards the rafters, where her Stormcutter hung, watching the scene unfolding below with his great, luminous golden eyes. "Cloudjumper, fetch some blankets, please."

The dragon bobbed its head and dropped lightly to the floor and did as he was bid while Toothless jumped here and there, excited but unable to help.

"Toothless, cut it out!" Hiccup snapped as the Nightfury nearly bowled him over for the second time while he hauled Dagur's soaked boots off his feet while his mother worked on his chest plate.

Valka glanced up at the black dragon and then told her son, "Get him out of his saddle and dry him off. We'll use him and Cloudjumper to get our guest warm."

Hiccup nodded and set aside the boots before moving to do as he was told. It took him a moment to corral and calm Toothless so he could undo the saddle straps and dry him off with a spare towel, but he managed. By that time, Cloudjumper had returned with what looked to be every blanket in the house held delicately in his teeth, and Valka was using them to cocoon the unconscious Dagur. Hiccup stepped over the man's pile of discarded clothing and led Toothless back over to the fire and had him lay down.

"Just lay here and help Dagur warm up, alright, bud?" Hiccup asked the Nightfury as he and Valka carefully maneuvered the swaddled viking until he lay alongside the dragon. Toothless crooned and lowered his head to sniff lightly at Dagur's hair, stirring a few stray red strands with his warm breath as he lifted a wing to allow him in close.

Valka looked up at her son, surprised at his words as Toothless settled in and curled around their guest protectively. "You know this man?" she asked, then paused and frowned, trying to recall where she knew the name from.

"Yeah," Hiccup said as he shed his cold weather gear and dropped it along the back of a nearby chair before moving to Dagur's side. He reached out and pressed the palm of his hand to the other man's forehead, frowning when he felt how cold it still was. "This Dagur...Heather's brother."

Valka's eyes widened at this revelation, then turned to look more closely at the unconscious man. There wasn't a lot of family resemblance between the two, but sometimes that was just the way of things. Hiccup had told her of Dagur, how the man had once been an enemy, though gradually become an ally and perhaps even a friend before meeting his untimely end at the hands of Viggo Grimborn. She knew how his death had weighed on Hiccup's conscience, so it gave her no small measure of relief to know that there was one less thing to plague her son's dreams now. "What on earth happened to him?" she wondered aloud, expression thoughtful as she regarded the man. Hiccup likely hadn't seen it, distracted by drying down Toothless as he'd been, but Dagur's back had been crisscrossed by old scars that could come from nothing but a particularly vicious lashing. Below those, pressed into the skin over his left shoulder blade, had been the brand Drago Bludvist gave those who displeased him.

"I have no idea," Hiccup said with a sigh as he withdrew his hand and glanced up his mother. "He's not even shivering. That's a bad sign, isn't it?"

Valka hesitated, then nodded. When her son's face fell, though, she quickly added, "We'll do everything we can, Hiccup." She motioned Cloudjumper over and had him lay down on the opposite side of the firepit and unfurl his large wings to create a sauna effect and contain all the heat from the fire between him and Toothless. That done, she told Hiccup, "Stay here and keep an eye on him, I'll go make some soup."

Hiccup winced and jumped immediately to his feet, "Uh, how about you stay here and keep an eye on him, and _**I**_ go make the soup?" He smiled anxiously at her as he edged away towards the kitchen. He loved his mother dearly, but her cooking had not improved in the least the last two years. Her food was always...edible, but little else could be said in its favor. Valka gave her son an unimpressed look, knowing precisely what he was up to. Before she could object, though, he said, "You know more about treating people with hypothermia anyways, I'm sure."

Valka rolled her eyes at her son, but he was already gone, so she let it be and gently pushed her way past Cloudjumper's wings to sit between her dragon's forepaws where she could easily keep an eye on Dagur. After a time, the redhead began to shiver, which was a good sign. If his body was actually feeling the cold in his bones again, that meant the worst of it was past. As long as they kept him warm, he should be fine. Occasionally, she got up and dabbed gently at Dagur's brow as his body began to sweat with the exertion of shivering so hard.

By the time Hiccup had finished the soup and brought back two bowls, Dagur was down to only the occasional tremor. The chief gave their guest a hopeful sort of look, but when he didn't stir at the sound of his name they decided to let him rest longer and Valka took the extra bowl for herself. She watched with interest as her son's gaze darted to Dagur every time the man made the slightest twitch, though she made no comment.

Since reuniting with her son, she'd come to realize that he was very much the type to worry over those he cared about, and never enough about himself, just like his father. After awhile, Valka could see the excitement and exertion of the afternoon dragging at Hiccup as he began to drift off, only to start back into wakefulness any time he started to sag. Finally, the woman chuckled and said, "Rest, Hiccup, I'll keep an eye on him."

The young chief appeared torn by her words until a jaw cracking yawn overtook him, and he was forced to admit he was more tired than he'd realized. Rather than go up to bed, though, Hiccup grabbed his cloak and dragged it over him where he sat at the edge of the firepit, then leaned sideways and dropped his head onto Toothless' tail. Valka chuckled a little to herself as her son dropped right off with the suddenness of someone snuffing a candle. A chief had to learn to catch what sleep he could, when he could before the next disaster struck, and apparently Hiccup had picked up that lesson very well over the last two years.

Valka watched both men sleep for a time, then got up and took their bowls back to the kitchen to be washed. Just as she finished banking the cooking fire, a knock echoed through the house.

Frowning a little, the woman strode quickly to the front door before whoever was knocking did so again and woke the sleepers. She tugged it open, and was greeted by Astrid's concerned face. "Oh, good evening, Astrid," Valka said pleasantly to the younger woman, though she did not open the door and allow her through as she normally would.

This fact didn't go unnoticed by her son's second in command, but Valka had decided in that moment that news of Dagur's return could wait til morning when both he, and Hiccup, had had a chance to get some rest.

"Hello, Valka. Since that crazy weather finally died down a bit ago, I figured I'd drop in and go over tomorrow's meetings with Hiccup," Astrid said, and reached out to push the door open so she could pass.

Valka's hand on the door stopped her though, and the older woman said, "Actually, poor dear's already asleep. Best to let it wait til morning, I think. He hasn't been sleeping well lately."

Astrid's brow furrowed a little, and she looked ready to object for a moment, though thought better of it and stepped back. "Well, alright then. Don't let him make it a habit, though," the blonde mused, making Valka laugh.

"Well, you know him, always running about til he drops. I don't think _that's_ a habit he'll be breaking any time soon."

The two shared a commiserating smile on Hiccup's high energy nature, then Astrid said, "Alright, I'll be back bright and early, Valka."

"We'll see you then," the older woman said pleasantly, then paused a moment before saying, "Astrid? When you come, bring Heather."

The blonde's brow furrowed again in confusion. "Heather? Why?" she asked. Blue eyes narrowed as she asked, "Did something happen?"

Thinking of the man currently swaddled in blankets curled up next to her fire somewhere behind her, Valka said in a slow, measured tone, "Of a sort. I really can't say more at the moment."

Astrid seemed about to say more, but stopped herself, knowing that Valka was not the sort to divulge more information at another's insistence. So, instead, she said, "Alright. I'll let her know."

Valka nodded and smiled, then watched as the other woman mounted her Deadly Nadder and took off into the evening sky. Astrid had been right, the weather really had died down to something more mild. Still cold, but not in the same brutal way it had been just an hour before. The storm had dissolved as though it had never been there at all, leaving behind only lazily scudding clouds and a stiff breeze.

The woman frowned up thoughtfully at the inoffensive sky, then ducked back inside and closed the door behind her. Lost in thought, she wandered back towards the fire, then crouched down and stoked it with the poker and added another log. As she did so, she felt eyes on her, and glanced across the pit to see Dagur watching her.

She could see the family resemblance to Heather, now. There wasn't much similarity between the siblings in face, build, or hair, but those eyes...the vivid green eyes were the same. Dagur's were several shades darker than Heather's, but somehow their familiarity was more in the calculating look they gave a person when sizing them up rather than the actual color.

"Would you like some soup?" she asked with a soft smile at the young man. He stirred a little at her words, and his gaze sharpened, as though he hadn't quite been certain if he were dreaming or not until she spoke. He tried to reply, but coughed instead as he slowly began to extricate himself from the blankets they'd wrapped him in.

Rather than waiting for an answer, Valka went back to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of soup and a cup of water. When she returned, he'd managed to get both his arms free, and though his hands shook, Dagur gladly accepted the water first and downed half of it in a single go.

Throat soothed, the redhead asked, "Where am I?"

"Berk," Valka answered simply as she took back the water and traded it for the bowl of soup.

"Thank the All Father," the young man said, then sagged sharply back against Toothless, nearly spilling soup down his front in the process and making the dragon grunt at the impact. Dagur jumped at the sound, and looked around him, eyes wide in shock as he realized just who it was he was leaning against. "Toothless!" he exclaimed, voice still weak but clearly delighted. So much so that Valka had to reach out and take the bowl from him before he dropped it in his hurry to sling an arm around the Nightfury's thick neck.

Valka watched, amused and a little surprised as the dark dragon not only accepted the show of affection, but returned it by butting his head lightly against Dagur's and running his tongue clean up his face. Like everyone else who received such treatment from Toothless, the redhead sputtered and wiped at his face. He pushed the dragon's broad head away as the creature let out a low chortle of amusement.

Barely suppressing a laugh herself, Valka tossed Dagur the towel Hiccup had used to dry meltwater from Toothless' hide earlier, which he used to wipe the sticky saliva from his face.

"Well, that's disgusting," the man grumbled, though his annoyance was clearly feigned as he grinned again and flopped back against the Nightfury's side once more.

"Toothless, quit thrashing!" Hiccup complained, mostly asleep as he reached up and slapped idly at his dragon's rump.

Watching the way Dagur gave a start again at the sound of her son's voice, Valka opted to hold on to the bowl of soup for the moment to save cleaning up a mess later.

"Take it easy now," the woman told their guest with a warm smile as she watched him try to sit up and turn so he could get a look at Hiccup, who was just out of sight. Weakened as he was, though, he was struggling.

Toothless gave his long tail a solid thrash, which sent Hiccup rolling, startling him into full wakefulness. "Toothless, are you kidding me?!" he snapped as he rolled to his feet and stormed towards his dragon. He froze mid-stride, though, when he saw Dagur not only awake and sitting up, but grinning at him. "Dagur! You're awake," the chief exclaimed, relief written clear across his freckled features.

"Am I?" the redheaded viking asked as he struggled to his feet, only to make a mad grab for his blanket when he belatedly realised that was all he was wearing at the moment. "Kinda thought I might be dreaming," he said with a grin.

Hiccup laughed and closed the distance between them. "Where have you _been_ ," he asked as he pushed lightly at the dagur's shoulder, only to grab him when the redhead nearly went over backward, exhausted as he was. "We all thought you were dead!" Still not quite able to believe the reality of Dagur's presence before him, Hiccup's hands on the other man's shoulders tightened briefly as his eyes roved over his features, cataloguing every detail and noting the similarities and the differences to the man he had known three years before.

"Kind of a long story," Dagur admitted with a huff of amusement as he adjusted his blanket a little. "I-" He froze, then, and his hand went to his chest. "My necklace," he said, tone immediately panicked as what little color he had regained in his face drained right back out. "Where is it?"

Vaguely remembering some sort of pendant coming off during her rapid stripping of Dagur's clothes when Hiccup first brought him into the house, Valka turned to the damp, discarded pile and rifled through it. A moment later, she came up with a round, glittering blue stone dangling from a leather cord. She'd never seen its like before, and found her eyes caught by its luminous depths.

"Thank the gods," Dagur said as he snatched it from her slender fingers and cradled it in the palm of his calloused hand, checking it for damage. Finding none, he heaved a sigh of relief and held it tight for a moment, eyes closed, before slipping the cord back over his head so the strange blue stone hung in the center of his bare chest, just below his collarbone.

Taken aback by this unexpected burst of panic, Hiccup watched Dagur closely, more curious than ever as he dragged up a chair and pushed it behind the redhead. Toothless scampered out of the way to allow his rider to pass, but plopped himself right back down next to the chair once Hiccup had gently pushed Dagur into it.

"Dagur," the chief said, tone solemn but imploring now as he pulled up a chair of his own and settled into it. " _What is going on._ "

The redhead adjusted his blanket so it came up around his shoulders, a little shiver rocking his frame as he scooted closer to the fire. He seemed at a loss on how to answer, so Hiccup allowed him a moment to collect himself while Valka finally pressed the bowl of soup back into the man's hands. His mother then proceeded to lay out Dagur's clothes next to the fire so they would dry more quickly while silence settled over their little group and the man in question sipped at his soup.

Hiccup watched him thoughtfully, once again noting all the little changes in the man since he had last seen him. He hadn't grown at all in height, but he did seem more muscular than ever, with at least a few new scars from the brief look the chief had gotten. Those were nothing to the change in Dagur's demeanor, though. He'd barely been awake five minutes and already Hiccup could sense that there was something...different about the man. He thought it was perhaps a continuation of the change that had made Hiccup take the risk of teaching Dagur the ways of a dragon rider. Even taking into account his momentary panic over the clearly important necklace, and the fact that he'd just survived a near-death experience, his one time rival seemed...steadier. Balanced, even.

"I think..." Dagur began as he finished off his soup and contemplated the empty bowl in a distracted sort of way. "Gods, I hardly know where to start," the redhead said with an overwhelmed chuckle and sagged back in his seat.

Valka smiled as she took the bowl from him and said, "The beginning is always _my_ favorite place to start a story."  
Their guest laughed again, and a smile played across Hiccup's lips as he watched them. "Good idea," Dagur agreed, seeming to relax a little as Valka went back to the kitchen, then came back with more water and soup for him. "Thanks," the redhead said gratefully, his earnest manners making Hiccup cock an eyebrow, though Dagur didn't notice. "Er," the man said as he looked up at Valka as he accepted the soup and water from her again. "By the way, who are you?"

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Make sure to drop a review and let me know what your favorite part was if you enjoyed! I always love finding that out from my readers, and helps keep up my ol' writing muse, haha.


	16. The Berserker's Tale

**AN:** Extra long chapter this week, hope you enjoy! It's also the second to last for what I have pre-written 8'D

 **WARNING:** This chapter is pretty much the reason this fic is rated M! It includes scenes of violence, torture, and character death! There's nothing super _gorey,_ but blood is drawn, so consider this your heads up!

* * *

 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Sixteen: The Berserker's Tale

A bark of laughter escaped Hiccup at Dagur's question, making the older man frown in his direction before turning his attention back to Valka. "Did I say something funny?" he asked her.

The dark haired woman shook her head and took a seat beside the fire, content to sit on the floor instead of a chair. Somewhere in the shadows overhead, Cloudjumper shifted then dropped down behind her and proceeded to settle himself so she might lean back against his broad, scaly chest. The Stormcutter had ascended back into the rafters as soon as Dagur had begun to wake, content to watch things play out from above while Toothless frolicked about their guest. Now he regarded the gape-mouthed man with curious golden eyes.

"Not at all," Valka replied pleasantly. "I'm Valka, and this is Cloudjumper," she explained as she gave her dragon's forepaw a fond pat, then looked back at Dagur and said, "I'm Hiccup's mother."

Hiccup hadn't thought it would be possible, but Dagur's jaw actually managed to drop even further, making the young chief laugh. He laughed even harder when their guest turned to him, still shocked. "What?!" the redhead demanded.

The younger man actually laughed so hard that he snorted. "What?" he managed to gasp out. "You thought I sprang fully formed from my father's beard or something?"

His answer startled a laugh out of Valka, and Dagur looked around him for something to throw at Hiccup. Finding nothing at hand besides his half-full bowl of soup, Dagur looked at Toothless and asked, "Will you _please_ hit him?"

To Hiccup's surprise, the Nightfury indulged the man and swiped at his rider with the flat of his tail. "Ow!" he objected, and fended off a second attack with his hands while Valka laughed behind her hand. "Alright, alright! Stop!"

The Nightfury let up on his assault, and thrummed happily when Dagur gave him a grateful pat on the head. "Thank you, Toothless. At least _you_ have some manners, huh?" He ignored Hiccup as the man rolled his eyes, and continued, "Still, never would have thought by lookin' at you that you'd have such a lovely mother, Hiccup," Dagur drawled, and flashed Valka a grin when her mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise, then turned into another smile. "Where's Stoick? I've got to congratulate him."

And with that, the mood of the room turned so fast that Dagur almost got whiplash. Hiccup and his mother both were looking anywhere but at him, good humor gone. The reality of the situation struck the redhead like a bolt from on high and he realized that his life wasn't the only one that had undergone radical change over the last three years.

"Oh," he said. "Oh." He never had been very good with this sort of emotional situation, and now he'd stumbled headfirst into a veritable briarpatch that threatened pain whatever way he turned. "I'm-"

Hiccup took a breath and held up a hand to forestall the words on Dagur's lips. He wasn't sure he could take an apology from Dagur the Deranged on the loss of his father right at that moment. "Later," the chief said quietly, and was more grateful than he'd like to admit that the other man showed unusual emotional acuity and immediately acquiesced. "Right now, I think your story is more important," Hiccup continued after a moment, and managed a half-smile. "You almost died getting here to tell it, after all."

Dagur hesitated and glanced from Hiccup to his mother, who nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. Reassured he hadn't done any lasting damage, the man sighed and finished off his soup off in one go. Once he'd set aside the bowl, Dagur sat back in his chair a little and began to speak.

* * *

Alright, so this time...this time he might have been a little _too_ rash for his own good, Dagur thought dazedly where he lay sprawled on the deck of Viggo's burning ship. Somewhere just out of sight he could hear Shattermaster roaring while clouds of fog and smoke drifted lazily through the air around him. When the noise cut off with terrifying abruptness though, the man's brain was jogged back into overdrive. Dagur forced himself to his feet and gave his head a sharp shake in an attempt to clear his vision. It didn't do much for the blazing agony pounding at the back of his head, but the pain did help him focus on his surroundings once more.

Dragon hunters ran here and there around him with buckets of water as they fought the blaze he and Shattermaster had lit in their midst. Dagur tripped one as he passed and relieved the man of his sword, then brought the pommel down deftly on the back of his helmet, knocking him unconscious. Armed once more, the Berserker ran towards the source of Shattermaster's roar. His ribs screamed with every step he took, no doubt broken when he and his dragon had been knocked from the air by one of Viggo's catapults, but he pushed the pain away, refusing to let it distract him from his mission.

"Shattermaster!" Dagur called, then coughed as he choked on a lungful of smoke that poured across the deck. Rather than his Gronkle, though, it was Ryker Grimborn who answered his call, appearing from the cloying mist so suddenly that Dagur only barely managed to deflect the overhead strike he dropped on him from his greater height.

The readhead grunted in pain as his ribs complained at his effort, but managed to hold his attacker's blade at bay. Unfortunately, schooled warrior that he was, Ryker immediately noticed his opponent's handicap and took advantage by driving his knee up into Dagur's gut. Even wearing armor as he was, the blow was enough to drop the younger man to his knees. Before Ryker could finish him, however, Dagur lashed out at his legs with his sword, forcing the man to leap backwards out of reach.

The Berserker took advantage of the breathing room and lunged to his feet, bringing his stolen blade up in a vicious arc that caught Ryker off guard with its strength. He only barely countered, and was unprepared for Dagur's rapid spin attack, which caught him on his unguarded side, forcing him to duck awkwardly to the right. Seeing his chance, Dagur lashed out with a side kick that caught Ryker in the solar plexus and knocked him clean off his feet.

Before the viking could take more than two steps to close the distance between himself and the hunter, though, a voice cut through the noise and made him freeze mid-stride. "One more move and your dragon dies."

Dagur turned slowly to face the ship's aft and saw Shattermaster at last. The man's heart went cold and his eyes narrowed when he saw Viggo standing over the Gronkle, one foot on his snout, double-headed axe poised just over the dragon's exposed throat.

"That's right," Viggo practically purred, "now step away from my brother, if you don't mind."

The viking very much _did_ mind, but when Viggo raised his axe threateningly, he grudgingly acquiesced.

"Good. Drop your sword and kick it behind you."

Furious, Dagur bared his teeth, but did as he was told once more. His dragon lay frighteningly still on the deck at Viggo's feet, but when he looked closer, the man could just barely make out the rise and fall of the Gronkle's chest.

For a long moment, Viggo and Dagur stared one another down in silence while the hunter's fleet burned around them. Of the twelve ships the man had gathered in an attempt to lure Hiccup into his trap, only two remained above the water line. Dagur could hear the rest of Viggo's men in the distance. Those who had been stationed on the sea stacks for the ambush had climbed down and were now mounting rescue efforts for those who had been forced to abandon ship in the harbor.

Finally, Viggo smiled thinly, but did not drop his weapon. "An impressive effort, Dagur," he mused. "You ruined my trap for Hiccup."

Dagur smirked and dropped the hunter an exaggerated, mocking bow. When he straightened, he looked around at the chaos he had unleashed and said, "Yeah, you know, I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get _all_ your ships, but hey." He shrugged and grinned, then continued, "It's my first day on the job as a rider. A man's bound to make a few mistakes."

"No," Viggo bit out, all signs of amusement gone now as he advanced on Dagur. "Your _mistake_ was crossing me, you pathetic fool." The redhead watched the hunter advance, waiting for an opening to strike. Unfortunately, Viggo had always been the clever sort, and stopped well out of range. The older man took a breath, and his calm demeanor slid right back into place, all signs of frustration tucked neatly away out of sight once more. "Don't worry, though, if you tell me precisely how much Hiccup knows about our operations and what he's planning next, I'll consider sparing you _and_ your dragon."

Dagur had never liked Viggo, even when he'd been working with him. Besides his smug, oh-so-punchable face and cold demeanor, the Berserker had always hated the man's eyes. Black and soulless as a shark's; liar's eyes.

The younger man smiled innocently and asked, "Hiccup who?"

Viggo looked him up and down with a speculative air. "Ah," he said. "I see. That's what you're going with then, is it?"

"I'd be game for a fight to the death instead," Dagur suggested brightly.

The hunter only chuckled and motioned over two of his men now that the remaining fires had finally been doused. "I'd indulge, but I'm rather afraid it'd be a waste of effort on my part, and I've more important things to be doing than playing swords with little boys." Viggo drawled. To Ryker, who had regained his feet and taken command of the men his brother had summoned, he said, "Take him below deck and do your best to make him see reason. Do try not to kill him, though." As an afterthought, the older man added, "Oh, and chain his dragon up in the cargo hold. No point in letting it go to waste."

"We ought to make him take a long walk off a short plank with a shirt full of rocks," Ryker growled, though his brother only chuckled.

"But where's the fun in that? Besides, if he's smart for a change, he might prove useful."

"Sit on a pinecone and spin, Viggo," Dagur spat as he was hauled away. Before he could struggle in earnest, Ryker punched the Berserker directly in his broken ribs, driving the wind from his lungs and making him retch as stars exploded behind his eyes.

He must have blacked out, as the next thing he knew, he was below deck hanging by his wrists from a set of heavy manacles. His armor and shirt were both missing, leaving him bare chested in the chill of the ship's brig, sensitive nose plagued by the scent of old blood and rot. Dagur glanced around warily as he dragged himself to his feet to relieve the pressure on his wrists. Even standing, though, the man's hands were forced over his head by the shortness of the chain that affixed the manacles to the ceiling.

"Finally awake, are we?" Ryker asked, forcing Dagur to crane around to see him. The viking had been chained so he faced the wall of the ship, but at his back were a set of heavy bars that ran floor to ceiling on either side of a stout looking metal door.

"Hard work, burning a fleet. Thought I'd take a nap," Dagur said with an exaggerated yawn just to irritate Ryker. "Come to question me like your baby brother told you to, huh?"

"Not quite yet," the large, bald man said with a thin, cruel smile. "Thought I'd show you a little Dragon Hunter hospitality first."

Dagur glanced back over his shoulder, suddenly wary, though he feigned otherwise. "This isn't going to take long, is it? I've got an escape to plan."

Ryker laughed and did something just out of sight. "Oh no, won't take more than a moment."

There was a soft crackling, Dagur realized, the sound of something burning, though this time it wasn't the ship. The viking casually tried to twist around so he could see what the hunter was doing, but found his range of motion significantly restricted by the chains around his ankles that anchored him firmly to the floor. The man's ears strained as he tried to figure out what it was Ryker was up to behind him, but until the quiet scrape of metal that signaled the unlocking of his prison's door, Dagur could only guess.

Unfortunately, guess number three that crossed his mind wound up being correct.

"Gotta say," Dagur remarked as Ryker walked around to face him, "I don't think much of hunter hospitality."

The older man carried a brand of familiar make, heated in a brazier until it attained an ominous, rosey hue. Dagur had seen it only the once before when he'd rescued Hiccup from the hunters on the island they'd both been stranded on, and he was not glad to see it again at such close proximity to his person. They'd almost marked his brother with the hunter's brand that day, and now, apparently, they planned to do him the same favor.

"Oh?" Ryker asked, glancing down at the brand in his hand as though surprised by this idea. "Well then," he remarked, "If you felt like answering a few questions, I suppose we could send you on your way without giving you a little souvenir to remember us by."

Refusing to show the fear twisting in his gut to the enemy, Dagur took a breath and resigned himself to the inevitable. Heather was safe; Viggo wouldn't get his hands on her. Hiccup would never let him, not without sacrificing himself first, that much the man knew for sure. Dagur's own protective streak was only something recently discovered, and applied to so very few. Hiccup's, however, was wide as the blue sea and just as encompassing. He'd keep Heather safe in Dagur's absence.

Even the famed Dragon Master of Berk wouldn't be able to protect her if Dagur spilled his guts to someone like Viggo and his henchman of an older brother, though.

"Think I'll have to give that a pass, Ryker ol' buddy," the redhead said lightly. "Just do us both a favor and make it quick, huh? I've got better stuff to do than chit-chat with you."

Ryker didn't respond to his captive's quips, just stepped around so he faced Dagur's bare back, brand in hand. Dagur might have been tempted to say that the harrowing moment of anticipation before metal touched skin was almost worse than the brand itself, but it wasn't. It really wasn't.

The viking fought back the urge to scream, but as the pain went on, and on, and on...his resolve broke, and a scream of agony tore through him, forcing his body into a taut arch in a vain attempt to escape the pain. There was no escape, though, as Ryker matched him for every involuntary, tormented twist his body made.

Finally, the brand was withdrawn and tossed aside in a bucket of water where it sizzled and popped at the sudden temperature change. Dagur, sagged limply, the full weight of his body on the manacles at his wrists as his knees buckled, making the metal bite into the skin there. That relatively minor pain barely registered thanks to the white hot agony that had taken over his left shoulder where he'd been branded. An undignified sob escaped Dagur where he dangled, mind reeling as his vision narrowed down to a distant pinpoint. For a moment he came dangerously close to fainting, but pride made him rally, and he pulled himself back onto his feet with shaking, but determined movements.

Gods above, human flesh really _did_ smell like pork when it burned.

Dagur fought back the urge to vomit at the smell, and forced himself to focus on Ryker instead. The sadistic bastard was speaking, but it took a moment for the words to register.

"How about that? Jog anything up in that deranged little head of yours?" the man asked and grabbed his captive by the hair, forcing eye contact..

A weak laugh escaped Dagur, and he gave Ryker his maddest grin. "Deranged? You make me look positively sane, buddy."

The hunter scoffed, and let Dagur's head drop. "Tell you what, I'll let you think on it awhile," he said, sounding downright generous. "I'll drop back by later and you can tell me what you remember, or I'll inflict a little more 'hospitality' on you, yeah?"

"Can't wait," the viking said brightly, despite his voice being worn to rasp by his screams. "Say hi to Viggy-poo for me, won't you?"

Ryker let out a noise of disgust and finally left the brig, locking the door soundly behind him. Dagur had learned the man lacked his brother's patience when it came to mind games months ago, though at this rate, the viking wasn't sure how long _he'd_ be able to keep up with them himself.

Ryker didn't return until late the next day, leaving Dagur to stew with only his own thoughts and extreme physical discomfort for almost twenty-four hours. His new brand throbbed, and though his arms had gone numb long ago, they ached viciously as his heart struggled to get blood up to his fingertips.

"Don't suppose you've thought better about my offer?" Ryker asked as he leaned casually against the door of Dagur's cell.

"What offer was that again?" the viking asked as he lifted his head, though did not look around. He'd been trying to keep track of the hours as they passed, but it was a struggle when he didn't have a window. In the end, Dagur had taken to studying the woodgrain of the wall before him, trying to find shapes and patterns in it to distract himself. One thing he did know for sure, though, was that they had weighed anchor not long after Ryker had left him alone the first time, and they had made it to the open sea an hour later.

He had no idea where they were going, but Dagur had no desire to find out.

Ryker unlocked the cell door, then closed it behind him once he'd entered. "Maybe having your arms up like that is making your blood pool," the man mused, his feigned concern making the hairs at the nape of Dagur's neck stand on end. "Here, let me help."

The viking wasn't sure what the other man was plotting, but in spite his attempts to be ready, Dagur was completely unable to catch himself when Ryker unexpectedly released his manacles and kicked him in the back of the knees. The younger man swore violently and hit the floor face first in heap, arms completely unresponsive, leaving him at Ryker's mercy. The hunter wasted no time in grabbing his wrists and binding them behind his knees. Combined with the fact that his ankles were still anchored to the floor by a second set of chains, Dagur was completely immobilized, forced into a mock fetal position on his knees with his nose nearly pressed into the floor.

"Comfortable?" Ryker asked as he straightened, something tapping idly against the top of his boot.

"Oh absolutely," Dagur replied acidly, though the truth was, after spending an entire day on his feet with his arms over his head, he actually _was._ There was very little doubt in his mind, though, that this particular state of being wouldn't last long. "I sleep like this all the time. Don't you?"

The soft whistle of something quite thin moving very fast through the air was the only warning Dagur received before Ryker's lash left a red weal across the pale skin of his back. The sharp pain startled a shout from the viking, as did the next one, which landed hard enough to draw blood. The third only clipped his right shoulder when Dagur threw himself to one side in an attempt to escape the pain. Bound as he was, though, he did little more than lean to one side before he nearly dislocated his ankle. All it took was a swift kick to the ribs on Ryker's part to set him back on his knees again, giving the man plenty of opportunity to land another blow with the thin, flexible cane he'd brought as his 'hospitality application instrument' of choice.

Distantly, as his captor set about flaying his back with a single-mindedness that would have been impressive under other circumstances, Dagur figured he was lucky Ryker hadn't landed a kick to his broken ribs. Then again, if he had, maybe he would have blacked out and been unconscious for the horrific beating that followed.

Furious and overwhelmed by pain in turns, all Dagur could do to plant his forehead against the cool wood floor and scream until he was hoarse. Rage, resentment, and fear at his helpless state burned hot as a star in his chest, keeping him conscious throughout despite his prayers to the gods for them to render him otherwise.

Eventually, when the bulk of Dagur's back had been rendered into a series of long, bloody welts thinner than his pinky finger, Ryker relented. The viking bit his bottom lip hard enough he drew blood to muffle the sob of relief that threatened to escape him. The hunter stood over his sorry form and absently wiped the lash along the leg of his pants to clean it of Dagur's blood.

"That'll be all for now, I think," Ryker said, a little breathless from the effort. "I'll be back later. If I were you, Dagur, I'd think real hard about giving some answers before you force me to become...creative."

For a moment, the viking didn't answer, simply kneeled there, helpless and gasping, until he finally spat, "Fuck you, Ryker."

The hunter just laughed as he exited the cell, leaving Dagur bound on his knees, rather than trying to muscle him back up into the ceiling restraints. Blood oozed sluggishly from the viking's new wounds as he hovered at the edge of unconsciousness.

He had no idea what Ryker had planned for their next little hospitality session, but Dagur had no intent of sticking around to find out.

For a time, it was all the viking could do to simply kneel there, sweating despite the chill air, the salt irritating the abused skin of his back. Dagur hovered on the edge of consciousness, until a new sound reached his ears and pulled him back to the present. He lifted his head and tilted it to one side in an effort to make out what it was, doing his best to repress the urge to scream at the pain that came with the slightest move he made.

"Get it together, Dagur, you've had worse," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head, then wiped the sweat from his eyes on the knee of his pants. He was lying, of course, but it helped a little anyways.

The sound was of chains being shaken vigorously, accompanied by muted growling. The viking's heart leaped a little in his battered chest when he identified it. "Shattermaster?" he rasped hopefully. "That you, buddy?"

The metallic clink of the chains died down, and after a moment, was replaced by a muffled sort of puppy-dog whine from something significantly bigger than a puppy-dog. Dagur was so relieved that a rough laugh actually escaped him. "Thank Thor," he said. "Don't worry, I've got a plan to get us out of this mess, alright?"

Another whine, though this one seemed less distressed than the previous, which brought a soft smile to the viking's face and fired up his determination once more. Judging by the sounds his Gronkle was making, Dagur guessed he'd not only been chained down, but muzzled on top of it. That meant it was up to him to save Shattermaster, rather than the other way around. Luckily for him, he still had a trick up his proverbial sleeve. For the time being, though, he'd have to rest up; he'd only get one shot.

The storm hit an hour later, and Dagur knew they were all in trouble when it began tossing the ship about like a toy in a child's bath. He did his best to soothe Shattermaster's distressed whining as the boat heaved around them, timbers creaking alarmingly at the strain of it all. The constant roar of the waves pounding against the hull made Dagur feel he was going deaf, though that was precious little distraction from the agony constantly lancing through his wounded back as he was jostled this way and that.

Despite all this, exhaustion caught up with Dagur enough that he dozed off more than once, desperate for what little rest he could get while the getting was good. The storm hadn't let up in the slightest when Ryker inevitably returned, looking soaked, battered, and tired himself. The viking couldn't even guess how long it had been since he'd left, but luckily for Dagur, his captor returned while he was awake.

As soon as he heard the door up to the deck slam open, allowing in an alarming quantity of water, he immediately contorted himself in such a way that his left shoulder popped out of joint with a sickening crunch. Dagur bloodied his lip again biting back a cry as he inflicted yet more pain on his already overwhelmed body. When it was done, though, he took a breath to collect himself and feigned unconsciousness as he listened to Ryker make his way down the stairs, swearing as he was thrown into the nearest wall by the erratic tossing of the ship.

"Wake up, worm," the hunter growled as he unlocked the cell door and entered, fumbling briefly as he nearly fell again. "I don't know why, but Viggo has decided that it's time for another round of questioning _right now_ , so let's get this over with, shall we?"

When Ryker bent to grab Dagur's hair to force eye contact, the viking shifted his arms, his newly dislocated shoulder allowing his manacled wrists to slide up past his hips from behind his knees. The hunter realized what was happening too late, and it was with perhaps the greatest sense of satisfaction he had ever felt that Dagur surged to his feet and drove the crown of his head up into the other man's face as hard as he could.

Ryker went down like a sack of potatoes, keys dropping from his hand to the floor next to Dagur with a sharp clatter. Legs unstable from sitting crouched for so long, the viking dropped to his knees again and took a moment to recover. His back was screaming again, but the prospect of freedom so near at hand effectively muffled it for the time being. Once he'd managed to stop shaking, Dagur carefully popped his shoulder back into its joint with a grunt of pain, then twisted around so he could pick up the keys Ryker had dropped. Luckily, there was only two on the ring, and one was noticeably larger than the other, signaling to his questing fingers that it likely went to the cell door.

It took contorting into a near backbend to get the lock at his ankles undone, the pain of it making Dagur break out in a sweat again. He could have cried when he heard the lock click and the chain loosen, but he managed to repress the urge in favor of sitting back and folding himself into a ball so he could pull his arms under him until his bound hands were in front of him again. From there, getting the manacles off his wrists was easy, and it was with a great deal of satisfaction that the viking then used them to bind Ryker up in his place before exiting the cell and locking it soundly behind him.

Dagur paused at the door to the cargo-hold and listened for a moment. He could hear the shake of chains as Shattermaster shifted, but he could hear nothing else, forcing him to guess that the dragon had been left unguarded. When he pushed his way in, the viking realized why: the Gronkle had been thoroughly bound by heavy chains on each leg that were then anchored to the floor. The muzzle they'd forced onto the dragon kept his mouth firmly shut, and seemed dangerously close to cutting off his air altogether.

Fury pricked at Dagur's heart as he rushed in and immediately set about freeing his dragon. "I'm here, buddy, don't worry. We're getting the hell out of here," he said as he went from chain to chain and unlocked it. Fortune had smiled on them for that brief moment, as the locks proved to be the same as those that had bound Dagur himself, meaning he didn't have to go in search of a second set of keys.

When the Gronkle was free, his tail wagged fiercely and he opened his wide, toothy mouth to give a roar of joy. Dagur threw himself on him, using his arms to bind his mouth shut. "Shh! Shh, Shattermaster! I'm glad to see you too, but we've gotta be smart here. Gotta be sneaky, so not a peep, got it?"

The dragon nodded readily under the weight of his body, and the viking carefully released him. Luckily, the eager Gronkle truly seemed to understand him, and only licked his rider's face happily when freed. Dagur chuckled and ran his hands over the creature's pebbled green hide and scratched him just behind one of his webbed ears while he gave him a once over. Nothing seemed broken, but there was a worrying hole in the webbing of the dragon's right wing.

Dagur brushed over it with the tips of his fingers and asked, "Think you can still fly like this? I mean, we don't really have any choice, but…."

Shattermaster just licked his hand and wiggled some more, and Dagur took that to mean he was willing to try. It was that or stay in captivity, after all, so he couldn't really blame him.

"Alright, let's go," he said and lead the way out of the cargo hold, though not before grabbing up a spare shirt someone had cast aside. No doubt his own things had been thrown overboard out of spite. He put it on, hissing in pain as the fabric settled over his injuries, then made for the stairs that lead above deck, Shattermaster at his heels. Ryker was still out cold, and Dagur made a point of keeping the keys with him. If the ship happened to sink, it wouldn't twinge his conscience in the least if the hunter went down with it.

The man climbed up onto his dragon's back as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He took a moment to settle himself so he lay flat along the Gronkle's back, knowing from the way the ship still tossed underfoot that the storm would be in full swing outside, meaning that sitting up in the usual position would likely just result in him being tossed into the sea.

"Okay," Dagur said when he had a good grip with both his legs and hands, the adrenaline of the moment blessedly taking the edge off the pain in his back and ribs for the time being. How much longer that would last, he couldn't say. "When I say 'go', you're gonna burst through that door and get as far away from the ship as fast as you can, alright? Don't fight, just get us as far away from here as you can."

Giving such an order to his own dragon pricked the viking's pride a little, but not so badly as to make him reconsider. He had no idea how many men might be on deck, and it was unlikely he'd get another chance like this any time soon. Beneath him, Shattermaster nodded readily and dropped into a crouch, waiting for the command.

Dagur took a breath and steeled himself, then said, "Okay, go!"

The Gronkle surged forward and burst through the hatch above them with the sharp crack of shattering wood, startling several men. Before they could react, though, Dagur and Shattermaster were away into the storm, leaving the heaving, swamping ship behind before the hunters could so much as find their bows.

Dagur would have cheered for joy had he not been struck with the unfortunate realization that he might have just escaped the frying pan and landed directly in the fire. The storm over the sea was vicious, the strength of its winds threatening to tear the rider from Shattermaster's back despite his low profile position. As if that weren't bad enough, the rain pelted them from all angles at such a velocity Dagur would have sworn it were hailing. It was an agony across his back until the chill of the water rendered him effectively numb a few minutes later.

The clouds above them were so dark that Dagur couldn't determine whether it was day or night, and with no sun or stars to navigate by, the panicked viking realized he had no idea which way they were going. He took a breath and reigned in his urge to panic, though, and took a breath. The waves seemed to be growing taller every moment, so Dagur nudged Shattermaster higher. If they could just get above the clouds he could figure out where they were and how to get back to Dragon's Edge…

Below him, Shattermaster faltered before they even got close, and he realized that trying to climb against the wind was straining the Gronkle's injured wing. Dagur swore silently and stopped trying to push the dragon higher lest the tear in the webbing become worse. Already he could feel the difference in the strokes of his dragon's wings; they'd been fast and confident before, but no longer.

"Hang in there buddy!" Dagur called over the sharp crack of lightning and deep roll of thunder. "Just do what you can until the storm blows over!"

Shattermaster rumbled his agreement and leveled out. For a long time, it was all the Gronkle could do to keep out of the reach of the waves as the wind tossed them this way and that. It carried them one way, then dragged them high into the air and dropped them again, forcing a cry of pain from Dagur with every sharp turn that jogged his broken ribs. Hands that had long since been rendered numb remained locked around his dragon's ears while rain coursed over Dagur's face and blurred his vision as he tried in vain to spot an island to land on.

Gradually, fear turned into terror as the viking came to realize that Viggo's course had taken them out of the main confines of the archipelago, though in which direction he could not begin to guess. Terror became panic when Shattermaster's wings began to falter more often than they beat. Not only had the hole in the webbing spread alarmingly, the dragon was clearly exhausted after days spent locked up with no food or water. Dagur could feel the unsteady, desperate heave of his dragon's chest beneath his legs, and even in the dark he could make out the quickly approaching waves.

"Come on, Shattermaster, please!" Dagur begged desperately as lightning split the sky to their left, the nearness of its passing making every hair on his body stand on end. The way the dragon struggled to obey despite his obvious exhaustion broke the viking's heart. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault," he gasped as they dropped towards the water, hot tears mixing with the cold rain on his cheeks. "I'm so sorry!"

They didn't hit the water so much as the sea reached up and swatted them out of the air with the peak of a wave the way he would a fly. The chill of the water drove the air from Dagur's lungs, but he was an experienced enough sailor to keep himself from inhaling immediately on reflex. He managed to retain a grip on Shattermaster through it all, and used it to guide the dragon up towards the surface.

"Swim! C-come on, you can d-do it," Dagur gasped, teeth already chattering by the time their heads broke the surface of the water. The sea around them heaved, driving them up one side of a mountainous wave, and then back down the other into the pursuing valley. "Move your legs!" he commanded as he grabbed hold of the dragon's good wing and followed his own advice. Shattermaster's eyes rolled with a frantic desperation, but after a moment's encouragement from his rider, he started kicking his short, thick legs, pushing them forward. "G-good boy!"

They swam, trying in vain to keep frigid muscles from seizing, and hearts from slowing in the cold. Sometimes the rain came down so hard Dagur could hardly tell air from sea, and others they were both dragged down into the depths by the roll of a wave they could not ride, only to bob back to the surface a moment later with a desperate gasp. Each time, though, they grew a little more tired, and came up just a little more slowly as exhaustion dragged at their limbs.

Through it all, Dagur retained a deathgrip on Shattermaster, desperate not to lose him in the chaos as he called constant, chattering reassurance to the dragon to keep him moving. Eventually, though, it was all he could do to keep him afloat, all forward progress lost as the uncaring sea swirled around them. A creature made for flying, made for eating rocks and spitting magma...Shattermaster was not adept at floating once he lost the strength to paddle.

"Please, please don't," Dagur begged as he pulled the dragon's head above water yet again. "You're s-stronger than this, Shattermaster," the viking tried to chide the dragon in hopes of lighting a fire in him, but his voice came out weak and pleading rather than fierce. The Gronkle's eyes barely cracked open at the sound of his voice, and he was still in the water, Dagur the only thing keeping him afloat now, burning through his own flagging strength to try and save them both.

Shattermaster chuffed quietly, then flicked his cold, broad tongue out to lick his rider's cheek.

Tears sprang to Dagur's eyes and he clutched desperately at his dragon, frozen fingers slipping over his pebbled green hide as he pressed his forehead to Shattermaster's nose. Brave creature, loyal to a fault after only a day in his company; too good for the likes of Dagur… and now he'd gone and gotten him in the kind of trouble you just didn't come back from.

He'd been prepared to die the moment he'd woken up in Viggo's brig; he'd been okay with that if it meant saving Heather and the others. A good death...a worthy death for the son of a chief who had strayed from the righteous path but found his way back to it after a some hard knocks, a lot of solitude, and a newfound appreciation for family bonds, both blood and not.

He hadn't been prepared to sacrifice an innocent in the process, though. Dagur had only known the dragon a day, but there was a bond between them he hadn't anticipated, and it'd set its hooks deep in the tender part of the viking's heart. Now it was tearing him apart from within and he was sobbing as Shattermaster's dead weight dragged him deeper into the grip of the unforgiving sea, until he was forced to take a breath as he was pulled under the surface. This time, there was no coming back together, it was one or none and Dagur's survival instincts kicked in and drove him back to the surface gasping to scream, "Please! Don't leave me alone! I can't do it alone!"

The viking took a breath and dove back into the dark, feeling blindly for his dragon. Finding nothing, he resurfaced and then dove again, and again, and again until he was trembling and weak with exhaustion and cold, barely able to keep his head above water. He could still speak, though, even if it was a struggle against his own traitorous muscles. He alternately cursed the Goddess Ran for taking his dragon, and begged her for his own life until, at long last, the rain died away and the storm calmed. Around him, the waves, though still large, were no longer the size of ship killers.

Numb in body, heart, and mind, Dagur floated aimless in the vastness of the sea, staring up at the black sky until the clouds slowly began to clear. The moon showed its face then, and in his delirium, the viking felt as though Máni himself were smiling down at him as one final wave washed over Dagur and dragged him down to a depth from which he did not have the strength to return.

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 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Not gonna lie, I definitely teared up a little writing this. I love my crazy, badass viking son, but damn if I'm not cruel to him... it's how I show my love 8')

Make sure you drop a review if you enjoyed! It only takes a moment of your time and one hundred percent makes my day! Not to mention it fuels my muse for writing. We're coming up on the last of the stuff I have pre-written, so ya'll might wanna step up your game if you actually want more XD


	17. The Hooligan's Brother

**AN:** Well, this is it, guys, the last of my chapter backlog 8'D From here on out there will no longer be weekly updates! I'll update as I'm able, but I've got a lot of stuff I'm working on so I'll be honest, it's probably gonna be slow going. Hope you stick around, though, and keep the reviews coming! They'll definitely help keep me working on this project, so do yourself a favor and take a minute to tell me what you thought, and/or what your favorite part was!

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 **Heart of a Scot, Soul of a Dragon  
** Chapter Seventeen: The Hooligan's Brother

At some point during the telling, Dagur's eyes had dropped from the faces of his audience to the fire before him. He stared into it, unseeing as the tale poured out of him like water from an over-full container. He'd only related the story twice before; the full of it to Merida, and then an edited version to her mother and father not long after. He'd _meant_ to give Hiccup and his mother the edited version as well, but the truth spilled out of him unbidden, and the viking found himself quite unable to soften the truth of his experiences at all.

Maybe it was the fact that he had racked up yet another near death experience to his name that did it. Whatever the reason, Dagur didn't notice the distress his story was causing his audience until he paused to take a drink and happened to glance up from the fire. He froze when he met their eyes, mouth full of water that he forced himself to swallow.

"Oh," he began awkwardly as his own words finally caught up with him. "Er, I mean...I'm _alright,_ " the man said, finding himself in the unusual position of comforting others over his own experiences.

Before he could say anything else though, Valka was already on her feet and walking towards him. He watched her come, a little nervous until she bent over and wrapped him up in a tight, motherly hug. Dagur froze in surprise at the contact, though soon relaxed enough to find comfort in the gesture. Carefully, hesitantly, he returned the embrace and looked askance at Hiccup from over the woman's shoulder. The young chief seemed paler than he had been before, clearly just as unsettled by the other man's tale as his mother, which he supposed shouldn't have surprised him. Hiccup offered him a small smile of reassurance, then got up and approached as well.

"Oh you brave, _brave_ boy," Valka said, sniffling a little in spite of herself as she gave Dagur one last squeeze, then released her hold on him. "I am so sorry for your loss. To lose a dragon that way..." she murmured and wiped away a stray tear before continuing, "You mustn't blame yourself, though. You did all you could."

Dagur felt his throat close up at her earnest words, and he pressed his lips into a thin line as he dropped his head and considered his mostly empty cup of water. "I can't..." the redhead cleared his throat when his words stalled, then pressed on, "Can't help but wonder if I shouldn't have stayed, waited for another opportunity to escape. If I had, maybe-"

"Don't," Hiccup said, voice low and firm as he stood beside Dagur's chair and laid his hand on the other man's shoulder. "That kind of thinking won't get you anywhere, trust me," the chief said. Dagur turned his head to meet the younger man's gaze, and knew from the darkness lingering behind his hazel eyes that he knew exactly how he felt. "If you'd stayed, Thor only knows what Ryker might have done to you, or Shattermaster for that matter."

He didn't say as much, but Dagur could practically hear what Hiccup was thinking as he gripped his shoulder. ' _Better to die trying to escape than at the hands of your tormentor.'_

"Thanks," the redhead said a little gruffly and dropped his eyes again. A low chuckle escaped him, then, as he fiddled absently with the strange pendant that hung just below his collarbone. "Gods know Merida's said the same thing enough times. Maybe one of these days I'll actually listen," he mused.

"Merida?" Hiccup asked curiously, eyes dropping to the other man's necklace. "Did she give you that?"

"Hm?" Dagur said as Hiccup took his seat and Valka paused to turn over their guest's drying clothes before doing the same. "Oh, in a way," he remarked with a sad sort of smile. He looked at Hiccup and Valka then, and said, "The story gets better from here, I promise."

Mother and son exchanged looks, then turned their attention back to Dagur, who reached out and absently stroked Toothless' broad black head as he gathered his thoughts. The Nightfury had curled up around his chair, eyes half-lidded as he listened. Dagur wasn't sure how much the dragon really understood, but he was still touched by the gesture, and grateful for the warmth of Toothless' tail across his feet.

"Lets see," the man murmured to himself as he sat back in his seat and resettled the blanket around his bare shoulders. "Ah, right. I don't know what happened after the storm cleared, but apparently I washed up on the shore of an inlet just below a castle. The people there found me and bandaged me up, and next thing I know, I'm waking up in a bed being waited on hand and foot by a beautiful princess."

This startled a laugh out of Hiccup.

"What? It's true!" Dagur said, laughing along in recognition of the oddity of his life. "Her name is Merida, oldest daughter of Fergus, Bear King of Dunbroch, and she's my best friend." He smiled warmly at the thought of his friend, and after a moment was forced to shake his head and amend his statement. "No, she's more than a friend, she's a sister, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for her." He glanced up from his contemplation of his guide stone to meet Hiccup's eyes and said in a fervent voice, "It's for her sake that I'm here."

The chief's brow furrowed in concern at the shift in the other man's tone. Seeing the depth of his obvious affection for this unknown princess had touched Hiccup; he didn't think he'd ever heard Dagur speak of even Heather in that particular way before. It made the younger man very curious indeed."What happened?"

Dagur took a breath, and then launched into his tale once more. The three years he'd spent in Scotland were told quickly enough. After all, they'd been some of the calmest in his twenty-four years of life. The rather fantastic tale of Merida's adventure with her mother and Mor'Du he only skimmed over, deciding it was the princess' right to tell _that_ particular story.

Hiccup listened with a great deal of interest as Dagur's story continued, his horror at the first half fading gradually as he was caught up in the tale. It occurred to him, then, that the Berserker was a gifted story teller. He was able to make even his peaceful years among the Scottish clans interesting. Hiccup had more than a few questions about the mysterious princess and her adventure with her mother, but Dagur seemed intent on not telling him, so he let it be for the time being.

The longer Dagur spoke, the more convinced Hiccup became that, however tragic the experiences that had lead up to the older man arriving in Dunbroch, the years since had been _good_ for him. He'd noticed it when the redhead had first awoken, and the chief couldn't help but note it again now as he spoke animatedly of how the Bear King had trusted him to train his own men, but Dagur was _better_ than he'd been. Even when they'd still been enemies the redhead had been a great warrior and a canny adversary, but he'd always been...unstable. Reckless of not only is own well being, but especially those of his men. Those months he'd spent alone, shipwrecked on the island where he had saved Hiccup's life had begun to change him, but it was clear to see that the years since then had continued to do so.

While still a little manic sometimes, Hiccup could sense that there was a strength to Dagur that hadn't been there before. No doubt finding people he wanted to protect more than anything else had helped do the trick, as well as the friendship of a certain determined princess. Listening to the older man practically gush about her peaked the chief's interest and drew a smile to his face as Dagur alternated between singing her accolades and cursing her stubbornness.

Hiccup's good mood faded quickly once his guest reached the end of his tale and related Viggo's arrival on Dunbroch's shore with a veritable army of dragons under his command. The chief was already on his feet and pacing when Dagur explained how he'd arrived and said, "There's something _wrong_ with these dragons, Hiccup." He frowned up at the younger man and continued, "They're completely single-minded in their attack, and their eyes..."

"Razor thin iris?" Valka asked, expression solemn as she leaned forward a little where she sat between Cloudjumper's forepaws. "A thousand yard stare like they're looking right through you?"

Dagur blinked at her in surprise. "Yeah, actually," he said, eyes darting between mother and son as the exchanged a knowing look. "You've seen this before?"

Looking both tired and angry, Hiccup nodded and ran a hand absently through his dark brown hair. "Yes," he said. "It happens when they're being controlled by an alpha against their will, which means that Viggo must have figured out how to master one." His words trailed off and he looked at his mother, frowning. "I thought we'd seen the last of this with the end of Drago..."

"Me too, Hiccup," the woman said with a disappointed sigh of her own.

"Drago?" Dagur asked curiously as he put together this new information. "He controlled one of these alphas too?"

"Yeah," Hiccup said. "Through it he controlled _thousands_ of dragons and organized them into an army," he explained, expression grim. "Sounds like Viggo is doing the same thing on a smaller scale. Knowing him, though, it won't be long before he starts to expand."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Dagur said, "Can we go back to the bit about the dragon _army_?" He'd thought they'd had it bad at Dunbroch with the force Viggo had been siccing on the castle. A force of _thousands_ of dragons, though… with an army liked that, a man could roll right across the world. Dagur looked up at Hiccup, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. Leave it to the boy to go and break up an invasion force the likes the world would never recover from while he was gone.

A small huff of amusement escaped Hiccup, but he waved a hand dismissively. "Later," he said, "It sounds like your friends need all the help they can get right now."

Dagur nodded sharply. "That's why I've come back the way I did. The witch could only send one of us, and if it's me, I can guide you back to Dunbroch before it's too late."

"I'm very curious about this witch character," Valka mused. "To send a man hundreds, possibly thousands of miles in the blink of an eye… " After a moment, though, she shook herself and focused more on the subject at hand. One look at her son told her just what Hiccup was thinking. "Hiccup, I know you want to help these people, but you can't go. Berk can't be without its chief."

Hiccup rounded on his mother, expression fierce. "I owe it to these people, Mom! Sure, we succeeded in driving Viggo out of the archipelago, but to what end? So he could land on someone else's doorstep and destroy their way of life instead of ours? They're not prepared for what he's got to throw against them." He stepped closer to Valka, eyes pleading for her understanding. "It may be only indirectly, but the suffering of these people is _our fault._ We owe them our help, and you know I can't just send the others without me. They won't stand a chance without Toothless there and we can't expect him to do it without _me_."

Curiosity peaked, but not quite daring to interrupt the intense, hushed discussion between mother and son, Dagur glanced down at Toothless, who tilted his head to regard him with one large, luminous green eye. "Learned some new tricks while I was away, did you?" he asked. The Nightfury let out an amused chuff and gave himself a little shake. To Dagur's surprise, the spines along his back split and spread a few times, then closed together once more. "Hey, that's awesome, T!" the redhead said with a grin. "What's it for, though?"

"It makes him better able to take sharp turns," Hiccup explained, overhearing Dagur's question. Valka had walked back towards the fire, and seemed to be staring into its depths, lost in thought, a frown creasing her pale brow.

Dagur let out a low whistle as he stroked a finger over one of the Nightfury's spines. "Really? I always thought if he were any more agile he'd wind up flying backwards," he mused lightly, though his eyes were dark with concern as they darted towards Valka.

"At this rate we might manage," the chief remarked, amused. Dagur's glance didn't go unnoticed though and he rested a hand reassuringly on the redhead's shoulder. "So, that's the spell the witch gave you?" he asked conversationally and pointed at the stone around the other man's neck, buying his mother some time to mull things over.

"Yeah," Dagur answered. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted it from around his neck and offered it to Hiccup for a closer look. The older man appreciated the care the chief took with the pendant, his thin fingers roving over the stone's smooth, blue surface.

"It's warm," Hiccup noted curiously. Warmer than it should have been had it just been from being in contact with Dagur's bare skin.

The other man nodded. "I noticed that too," he said, watching as Hiccup turned it over this way and that. "It's the exact same color as her eyes," Dagur added absently after a moment, then corrected himself with a wince, "Well, 'eye' now."

Hiccup paused in his handling of the spelled stone. He'd been so distracted by news of Viggo Grimborn that he'd almost forgotten that portion of the story. Dunbroch's princess had given up her own eye so Dagur would have a way to find his way home with the help her people so direly needed. "Merida sounds like an extraordinary person," he said with a soft smile as he handed back the necklace, deciding in that moment that he and the other riders would go to this stranger's aid no matter what his mother thought.

He turned to do just that as Dagur slipped the leather cord back over his head, only to find himself face to face with his mother. "Mom," he began.

"I know, Hiccup," she said with a resigned sigh and an apologetic smile. "You're right. We can't turn our backs on these people in their hour of need."

A sigh of relief escaped Hiccup and he smiled at Valka, then wrapped her lean frame up in a tight hug. "We'll come back as soon as we can, I promise," he said when he released her. "You'll look after things here while I'm away?"

"Of course," she said and gave his cheek a fond pat.

"Great!" Dagur exclaimed ecstatically and sprang to his feet. He slung one arm around Hiccup's shoulders, and would have done the same to Valka if he hadn't been forced to make a grab for his sagging blanket again.

The woman laughed and turned to check his clothes where they lay by the fire. "Looks as though most of these are dry now, if you'd like them back," she told him, eyes bright with amusement.

"Yeah, probably a good idea," Dagur agreed as Hiccup stifled a laugh of his own behind a hand. The redhead collected his clothes and said, "Right, so I'll get dressed, and then we can get ready to go?"

Hiccup seemed ready to go along with his suggestion, but Valka put her foot down and said "No, you're going to get dressed and then get some _sleep,_ Dagur."

"But-" he began, only to be shut down before he could get a second word out.

"But you nearly _died_ today," she countered and arched a brow at him, as though daring him to object again. Dagur did not, in fact, quite dare. Valka might be a little warmer and more personable than Elinor, but she was just as fierce when it came to laying down the law, apparently. "You and Hiccup can do your planning come morning." Just as the man started to look sulky, though, she added in a more gentle tone, "Heather will be here then. I told Astrid to bring her when she comes to see Hiccup first thing."

Dagur's face lit up at her words, but the chief's brows furrowed. "When did you talk to Astrid?"

"Earlier while you were napping," she said. "I thought it'd be best you both got some sleep before having _that_ little meeting."

Hiccup had to agree that his mother was likely right on all counts, as was often the case. After his brief flurry of activity, Dagur was already looking drained again. Even as the chief watched, his guest struggled to mask a yawn, but failed.

"Alright, Mom's right. Let's get some sleep, and we'll tackle planning the trip in the morning when we're fresh," Hiccup said. "Come on, Dagur, you can take my bed tonight."

"What?" the redhead asked, surprised. "No, I'll be fine down here-" He turned and looked askance at Valka, but she just waved him off with a smile before heading back towards her own room there on the bottom floor. Toothless, too, was of no assistance. He just let out a little chortle of amusement from his place on the floor and stayed put.

Hiccup grabbed the other man by the arm and pulled him towards the stairs. "Oh just shut up and do it, would you?" he said with a rueful smile back at Dagur. "I don't know this Merida girl," the chief continued after a moment as they went up the stairs, "But I think she deserves an award of some sort for how weirdly _considerate_ you are these days."

"Hey, I was always this considerate!" Dagur objected as they reached Hiccup's loft room and the younger man pushed him in the direction of the bed. The chief leveled a skeptical look at him, and the redhead had to grimace and admitted, "Yeah alright, fine. Maybe I was a bit of a jerk in the old days."

"A bit, he says," Hiccup retorted with a laugh, though the curve of his lips told Dagur that he was amused rather than annoyed. "Get some sleep. I'll just be downstairs with Toothless if you need anything."

"Thanks," Dagur said, still clutching the blanket around his broad shoulders as he watched the other man start down the stairs. "Hey, Hiccup?" he asked, tone almost hesitant.

Hiccup paused and glanced back at him, one brow raised in question.

"Uh," the redhead began awkwardly, then paused for a moment before forcing himself to continue, "Speaking of being considerate; is it...is it alright if I call you brother?" Cheeks flush, he couldn't quite bring himself to meet the other man's eyes, so he made a study of the ceiling instead. "I mean, I know it always bothered you when we were younger, but-"

"It's alright," Hiccup said, surprising himself with how readily he answered. On closer examination, though, he realized that he really _didn't_ mind. Dagur was right; it had once bothered him a great deal to even contemplate being the older man's 'brother' in any way, shape, or form. However, the man Dagur had become? The man who wept for the loss of his dragon and risked everything to come all the way back to Berk just to find help for the people he cared about on a faraway island? _That_ was a man Hiccup was glad to call his brother.

Dagur seemed shocked by his words, but Hiccup just flashed him a grin and started back down the stairs. "Night, brother," the younger man said.

"Night," the redhead replied, breaking into a face-splitting smile as he watched Hiccup go. When he'd disappeared out of sight, Dagur turned to his bed and flopped down onto it. With all that had happened, he thought he'd have trouble getting to sleep. His body's needs overruled any ideas to the contrary his mind might have had, though, and he was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Make sure to drop a review and tell me what you thought/enjoyed about the chapter! They definitely help keep me writing, so it's in your best interest, yes? ;)


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